UC-NRLF 


B    3    331    flMb 


POPDLiB   WOBKfl 
er 

CAPTAIN  JIAYNE   REID. 

1,  THB  80ALP    HTTBTBB^ 

S.    THB  WAB    TRAIL. 

8b  THB   hunter's  FBAST. 

4b  THB  HGBR    HUNTBR. 

5.   OSCBOLA,    TTS  SEHISOUL 

6w    THB     QUADROON. 

7.    RANGBRS   AND   BEGULATOBft 

8L    THB   WHITE    GAUNTLBT, 

9.    WILD    LIFB. 
10.    THE    HEADLESS   HOBSntAlk 
II*   LOST    LENORB. 
IS.    TKT.  WOOD   BANGBBH. 
18.    THB    WHITE   CHIEF. 
14   THB    WILD   HUNTRBS8, 

15.  THE    MAROON. 

16.  THB    BIFLB    RANGIJRB. 


HtSHatat  Kayne  Raid's  works  are  ot  an  inUnmHj  In 

m$  and  fascinatiug  character.    Nearly  all  ot  t 

OOtDg  founded  upon  eome  historical  rrent,  Um^ 

ponees  a  permanent  yalne  while  preMOtiaf 

A  ttoilling,  earnest,  ^da«hing  flcUon  anf' 

paaaied  by  no  noyel  of  too  day. 

Ail  issued  uniform  with  this  volume.    Price,  J1.50  each, 
and  sent  free  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price,  \>y 

«.    W.  DILLINGHAM,  PUBLISHER, 

8UC0E880R  TO 

G.  W.  CARLETON  &  CO.,  New  York. 


The  White  Gauntlet. 


3,  KooeL 


By  captain    MAYNE  EEID, 


AtJ^-HOR   OP  "the   scalp   HUNTERS," — *' THE    RIFLE    RANGEHS/' — "THB 

TIGER      HUNTER," — '*THE    WAR     TRAIL," **  THE      WHITE    CHIEF,'* 

**THE  hunter's  feast," — *'  THE  WILD   HUNTRESS," — *'THK 

WOOD  RANGERS," — *' WILD    LIFE," — '*  THE    MAROON,"— 

** OSCEOLA  THE  SEMINOLE," — "  THE  WHITE  GAUNT-  ^ 

LET," — **  THE     HEADLESS     HORSEMAN," — 

ETC.,    ETC.,    ETC. 


l^'^M 


>&. 


NEW    YORK: 

G.    fT.    Dillingham,   Publis/tet 

Successor  to  G.  W.  Carleton  &  Co 

MX^CCCKCIL 


CONTENTS. 


I.~MiJtioK  Wadb, •    .  7 

II. — But  Danobt, .        •    .  12 

III. — ^A  Suspicious  Lovkb,     .<♦..,••,  18 

IV.--THB  Cousins, .  19 

v.— Walter  Wadb, ,  22 

VI.— "The  Kino!" ^7 

Vn.— "The  People  !" 32 

Till. — ^Thb  Black  Horseman,    ........  86 

IX. — "Stand  and  Deliver!** 46 

X. — ^An  Invitation, 53 

XI. — ^A  Queer  Valedictory, 57 

XII. — Stripping  a  Courtier, 60 

XIII. — ^The  FiTB  Champetre, 66 

XIV.— Forward— March, •    .  69 

XV. — Thb  Black  Horseman!    .••.••••  73 

XVI.— Thb  Lovb  Token, 80 

XVII.— The  Morris  Dancers, 83 

XVIII.— Thb  Defiance,    . 88 

XIX.~Thb  Prelude, 94 

XX.— The  Combat,  . 98 

XXI.— Stonb  Dban,    ..........  105 

XXII. — ^The  Footpad's  Confession,-       •    •    •    •    •  110 

XXIII. — ^A  Dispatch  from  John,  .    .    c    •             .  119 

XXIV  —A  Trio  cf  Couriers, 127 

XXV. — In  Country  Quarters,     .    .•••••«  136 

XXVI.— The  Boudoir,     .... 144 

XXVII.— Ukdbb  thb  Tbbbs. •    •    •  149 


Mi  i  QCM 


00NTBK98. 

XXVlil. — ^A  Jealous  Eavesdropper,     •  15^ 

XXIX. — AX(  ESCOBTED  OOUBIBB,      •     •     •  164 

XXX.— The  Saracen's  Head,    •    •    .                 .  170 

XXXI. — Dancey's  Daughter,    .    •    •    •             •    •    <  ITS 

XXXII. — The  Dispatch  at  Last,  .    •    .    ^             •    •  184 

XXXIII.— Will  Walpoed, .    .  194 

XXXIV. — ^A  Suspicious  Departure,   •    •    •         -    .    .  205 

XXXV. — A  Treasonous  Assembly, 212 

XXXVI. — An  Abbest  Kesolyed  Upon, 222 

XXXVII. — Obiolb  Suspicious,  . 230 

XXXVIII.— On  the  Tbail, 237 

XXXIX.— Dancey  in  Dbink, 249 

XL. — ^A  Punishment  Postponed, 257 

XLI. — ^Tempting  a  Sentinel, 266 

XLII. — Mutual  Distbust, 273 

XLIII.— A  Pbison  Visitob, 278 

XLIV. — An  Unexpected  Encountee, 285 

XLV.— Stobm  and  Calm, 299 

XLVI.— Away— Away! 289 

XLVII.— The  Pursuit, 305 

XLVIII.— Recaptured, 310 

XLIX.— Two  Travelers, 314 

L.— The  Escort, 319 

LI.— The  Rescue, 323 

LIT. — After  the  Arrest, 332 

LIII. — Going  a  Hawking, 337 

LIV.— The  Hawking  Party, 345 

LV. — ^The  Return  op  the  Gauntlef,    .    .    •         ,355 

LVI. — Scarthe  Rejected, 364 

LVII. — Sib  Mabmadukb  in  Teouble, 372 

LVIIL— The  Tbial, •...•.  380 

UX.— The  Faib  Suppliant,  ...•..•        .  S84 

LX. — A  Change  op  Quabtebs,    •    .    .    .        .    .  391 

LXI.— Marston  Moor, Z99 


OHAPTIB  I 

MABIOV   WADI. 

A  woman  in  %  wood — encountered  accidentally,  and  alon« !  *ni 
m  encounter  to  challenge  curiosity— even  though  she  be  but  a  gipsy, 
or  a  peasant  girl  gathering  sticks. 

If  a  high-bom  dame,  beautiful — and,  above  all,  bright-haired — cu- 
riosity is  no  longer  the  word ;  but  admiration,  involuntary,  unrestrain- 
ed— bordering  upon  adoration.  It  is  but  the  instinct  of  man's  heart 
to  worship  the  fairest  object  upon  which  man's  eye  may  rest ;  and 
this  is  a  beautiful  woman,  with  bright  hair,  met  in  the  middle  of  • 
wood. 

Marion  Wade  possessed  all  the  conditions  to  merit  such  exalted 
admiration.  She  was  high-bom,  beautiful,  and  bright-haired.  She 
was  alone  in  a  wood. 

It  did  not  detract  from  the  interest  of  the  situation,  that  she  waa 
mounted  on  a  white  horse,  carried  a  hawk  on  her  hand,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  hound. 

She  was  unaccompanied  by  human  creature — ^hawk,  hound,  and 
horse  being  her  only  companions. 

It  must  have  been  her  choice  to  be  thus  unattended.  Wishing  it, 
the  daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  might  have  had  for  esoort  a 
■core  of  retainers. 

Autumn  was  in  tlis  il^;  and  along  with  it  m  noonday  sun.    Tht 


golden  light  straggling  through  the  leaves,  was  rellectefl  upon  a  field 
of  blue ;  brilliant  as  the  canopy  whence  it  came.  It  was  not  the 
blue  of  the  hyacinth,  gleaming  in  the  forest  glade ;  nor  oC  the  mod- 
est violet  that  empurples  the  path.  In  October  it  cou'd  not  be  either. 
More  attractive  was  that  cerulean  tint,  seen  in  the  iris  of  ft  woman'f 
•ye — ^the  eye  of  Marion  Wade. 

The  sunbeams  danced  upon  her  yellow  hair,  with  apparent  delight^ 
kissing  its  tresses  of  kindred  color — ^kissing  her  radiant  cheek,  that. 
•ven  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  looked  luminous. 

What  does  she  in  the  wild  wood  unguarded — unattended?  Is  sh« 
•-hawking  ? 

The  "kestrel"  perched  upon  her  gloved  hand  should  say,  yes. 
But  more  than  once,  game  has  sprung  up  temptingly  before  her;  and, 
still  the  hood  has  been  suffered  to  stay  upon  the  hawk;  and  its  jes- 
ses are  retained  in  leash. 

Has  she  lost  her  way — ^is  she  wandering? 

Equally  unlikely.  She  is  upon  a  path ;  a  noble  park  is  in  sight, 
with  a  road  that  runs  parallel  to  its  palings.  Through  the  trees  she 
can  obtain  glimpses  of  a  stately  mansion  standing  within  its  en- 
closure. It  is  the  famed  park  of  Bulstrode — ancient  as  Alfred  the 
Great.  As  she  is  the  mistress  of  its  mansion,  she  cannot  have  losi 
her  way.     She  cannot  be  wandering. 

And  yet,  why  does  she  fret  her  palfrey  in  its  paces — ^now  check- 
ing, now  urging  it  onward  ?  If  not  wandering  in  her  way,  surely 
she  is  astray  in  her  thoughts  ? 

She  does  not  appear  to  be  satisfied  with  the  silent  solitude  of  that 
forest  path;  she  stops  at  short  intervals,  and  leans  forward  in  her 
saddle,  as  if  listening  for  sounds. 

Her  behavior  would  lead  to  the  belief  that  she  is  expecting  some 
OBie. 

A  hoofstroke  is  heard.  There  is  a  horseman  coming  through  the 
wood.  He  is  not  yet  in  sight;  but  the  sound  of  his  horse's  hooi 
striking  the  solid  turf  tells  that  he  is  riding  upon  the  track,  and  to- 
wards her. 

There  is  an  opening  in  the  forest  glade,  of  some  six  roods  in  ex- 
tent. It  is  cut  in  twain  by  a  path,  which  parts  from  the  high  road 
near  one  of  the  gates  of  Bulstrode  Park;  thence  trending  oyer  thf 
hills  in  a  northwesterly  direction. 

On  this  path  rides  Marion  Wade,  straying,  or  dallying,  06rtainl| 
■ot  traveling. 


MARION  \VAi)B.  I 

She  has  entered  the  aforementioned  opening.  Vear  its  ceiurt 
stands  a  tree — ^a  beech  of  magnificent  dimensions — whose  wide 
spreading  boughs  seem  determined  to  canopy  the  whol'^i  area  of  the 
opening.     The  road  runs  beneath  its  branches. 

Under  its  shadow  the  fair  equestrian  checks  her  palfry  to  a  stand, 
AS  if  to  shelter  hawk,  hound,  and  horse  from  the  fervent  rays  of  the 
noon-day  sun. 

But  no;  her  object  is  different.  She  has  halted  there  to  wait  the 
Approach  of  the  horseman ;  and  at  this  moment,  neither  hawk,  hound, 
nor  horse  claims  the  slightest  share  of  her  thoughts. 

The  horseman  soon  appears,  cantering  around  a  corner— a  rust?.o 
In  rude  garb,  astride  of  a  common  roadster  ! 

Surely  he  is  not  the  expected  one  of  Marion  Wade  ? 

The  question  is  answered  by  the  scornful  exclamation  that  escapes 
from  her  pouted  lips. 

**  'Sh  !  I  might  have  known  by  the  clattering  it  T«Tasn't  the  foot* 
&11  of  that  noble  steed.    A  peasant  !  " 

The  despised  rustic  rides  on,  as  he  passes  making  awkward  obei 
•ance,  by  a  spasmodic  pluck  at  his  forelock. 

His  salutation  is  scarcely  returned ;  or  only  with  a  nod,  apparently 
itfperciUous.  He  wonders  at  this ;  for  he  knows  that  the  lady  is  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade — Mistress  Marion — usually  so 
sondescending  to,  and  a  favorite  with  all  of  his  class.  He  cannot 
guess  the  chagrin  he  has  given  her. 

He  is  soon  out  of  her  sight ;  and  equally  out  of  her  thoughts ;  for  it 
Is  not  the  sound  of  his  departing  hoofstrokes  her  ear  is  now  requick- 
ened  to  catch ;  but  others  of  bolder  bound,  and  clearer  resonance, 
Awakening  the  echoes  of  the  wood. 

These  are  soon  heard  more  distinctly;  and  presently  a  second 
horseman  appears,  advancing  around  an  angle  of  the  road. 

A  striking  contrast  does  the  new-comer  present,  to  the  rustic  who 
has  just  ridden  past.  A  cavalier  of  elegant  carriage,  spurred  and 
pluHied ;  mounted  on  a  superb  steed,  of  jet-black  color,  his  counter 
elouted  with  flakes  of  snow-white  froth,  loosened  from  his  cham- 
fering lips. 

A  glance  at  the  horse  is  suflScient  to  show  that  he  is  the  "  noble 
steed  *'  mentioned  in  that  muttered  soliloquy;  and  half  a  glance  at 
the  rider  proclaims  him  the  h  dividual  for  whom  Marion  Wade  bai 
been  waiting. 


10  MAOTOIT  ^AT>1?. 

As  yet  she  has  not  given  Lim  half  a  glanoe.  She  has  not  eret 
tamed  her  eyes  in  the  direction  whence  he  is  approaching. 

She  sits  silent  in  her  saddle,  and  to  all  appearance  calmly  indifier- 
•nt.  But  this  air  of  insouciance  is  only  assumed.  The  quivering  of 
the  kestrel,  roosted  upon  her  wrist,  tells  that  she  is  tremhling ;  while 
ihe  high  heaving  of  her  hosom  indicates  the  prescmce  of  some  strong 
imotion. 

Going  at  a  gentle  gallop,  the  horseman  glides  out  into  the  opening. 

Perceiving  the  lady,  he  checks  his  steed  to  a  slower  pace,  as  if  to 
pass  more  respectfully. 

Marion  continues  to  affect  an  air  of  non-ohservance,  studied  and 
Severe;  though  the  cavalier  coming  forward  is  at  that  moment  th* 
sdle  subject  of  her  thoughts. 

Her  reflections  will  disclose  the  character  of  these  thoughts,  and  en- 
able us  to  obtain  an  insight  into  the  relations  existing  between  these 
two  splendid  equestrians ;  whom  chance  or  design  has  broughx  togeth- 
er on  the  lonely  forest  road. 

**  If  he  should  speak  to  me,"  soliloquizes  the  lady,  **  what  shall  I 
say  to  him?  What  can  I?  He  must  know  that  it  is  not  accident 
that  htis  brought  me  hither,  and  now  so  often.  If  I  thought  he 
knew  the  truth,  I  should  die  of  shame ! 

*'  I  wish  him  to  speak,  and  yet  I  fear  it.  Ah !  there  need  be  no 
fear.  He  will  not.  How  many  times  has  he  passed  me  without  % 
word !  And  yet  his  glances,  do  they  not  tell  me  that  he  would— oh ! 
— ^this  etiquette  of  oiu*  high  life,  that  without  shame  strangers  may 
not  be  civil  to  one  another  ! 

"  Would  I  were  a  peasant — and  he  the  same— only  handsome  as 
he  is  now !  'Tis  Cfuel  to  be  thus  constrained  by  silly  social  custom. 
My  sex,  too,  against  me.  I  dare  not  speak  first.  Even  in  his  eyes  ii 
irould  undo  me ! 

"  He  is  going  to  pass  me  as  before !  Is  there  no  w»y  by  which 
liiis  painful  reticence  may  be  removed  ?  '* 

The  fair  equestrian  appeared  to  ponder  on  some  plan— only  half- 
formed  and  half-resolved  as  her  muttered  reflections  indicated. 

"  Dare  I  do  it  ?  What  would  my  proud  father  say  if  he  were  to 
know  ?  Even  gentle  cousin  Lora  would  chide  me !  A  stranger 
whose  name  I  only  know,  and  that's  all.  Perhaps  not  a  gentleman  1 
Oh — ^yes — ^yes — ^yes !  He  cannot  be  other.  He  may  not  be  a  lord  ol 
ttie  land — but  he  is  lord  of  my  poor  heart!    I  sannot  restrain  myself 


MAEION    WaDE.  11 

from  soliciting  him— eyen  if  it  bring  shame  and  repentant*.  1  shall 
4oit— IshaUdoit!" 

The  speech  betrayed  a  firm  determination.    To  do  what  J 

The  act  itself  following  close  upon  these  words  answered  rtie  ques- 
tion. With  a  quick  jerk  the  lady  dislodged  the  kestrel  from  its 
perch,  tossing  the  bird  to  the  neck  of  her  palfrey — where  it  clung, 
dutching  the  snow-white  mane.  Then  drawing  off  her  glo\e,  a  whiti 
gauntlet,  she  dropped  it  negligently  by  her  side — permitting  it  to  slidt 
d#wn  the  skirt  of  her  liding-dress.     It  fell  into  the  middle  of  the  road« 

A  short  moment  intervened.  The  lady,  apparently  unconscious  of 
the  loss  she  has  sustained,  tightened  the  rein  upon  her  palfrey;  and 
with  a  slight  touch  of  the  whip,  moved  out  from  under  the  branches 
of  the  beech — ^her  horse's  head  turned  in  a  direction  opposite  to  that 
in  which  the  cavalier  was  approaching. 

At  first  she  rode  slowly  apparently  desirous  of  being  overtaken. 
Presently  she  inciBased  the  pace ;  then  faster  and  faster ;  until  she  went 
at  a  gallop — ^as  though  by  a  sudden  change  of  thought  she  had  de- 
termined to  avoid  an  interview.  The  thick  tresses  of  her  golden  hair 
escaping  fi*om  the  comb  swept  down  upon  the  croup  behind  her. 
The  natural  red  of  her  cheeks  had  become  heightened  to  the  hue  of 
carmine.  It  was  the  sufiusion  of  burning  blushes.  Her  eyes  were 
flashing  with  a  strange  excitement  in  an  expression  that  spoke  ol 
something  like  shame.  She  had  repented  of  what  she  had  done ; 
and  dreaded  to  wait  the  consequence  of  the  act ! 

For  all  that  she  was  dying  to  look  back,  but  dared  not. 

A  turn  in  the  road,  at  length,  offered  her  the  opportunity.  As  she 
reined  her  palfrey  around  the  corner^  she  glanced  towards  the  spot, 
where  she  had  abandoned  her  glove. 

The  tableau  that  saluted  her  eye  was  not  displeasing.  The  cava- 
lier, bending  down  from  his  saddle,  was  just  lifting  the  gauntlet  upon 
the  point  of  his  glistening  rapier. 

What  would  he  do  with  it  ? 

She  waited  not  to  see.  Her  palfrey  passed  behind  the  trees;  and 
the  horseman  was  hidden  from  her  sight. 

On  that  splendid  steed  he  might  easily  have  overtaken  her ;  but,  al* 
though  listening  as  she  rode  on,  she  heard  no  hoofstroke  behind  her. 

She  did  not  desire  to  be  overtaken.  For  that  day  she  had  submit- 
ted herself  to  sufficient  humiliation — self-administered — ^it  is  true ;  but 
she  slackened  not  the  pace,  till  she  had  passed  through  the  gates  ol 
the  park,  iiid  sighted  t|ie  walls  of  the  patermU  maosion. 


If  BET  DAKcacr. 

CHAPTER  IL 

BET  DAKOBT. 

If  tumultuoiifl  were  the  emotions  of  Marion  Wade,  m  she  let  fUl 
that  significant  token;  not  less  so  were  those  of  Henry  Holtspur,  bi 
he  took  ic  up. 

Had  the  lady  remained  b  moment  longer  looking  back,  she  would 
have  seen  her  gloye  taken  gently  from  the  point  of  the  cavaUer'g 
Bword,  pressed  with  a  wild  fervor  to  his  lips,  and  proudly  placed 
Blongside  the  plume  in  the  frontlet  of  his  beaver. 

She  only  saw  that  her  challenge  had  been  accepted;  and,  with  a 
thrill  of  sweet  satisfaction,  contending  against  a  sense  of  shame,  she 
had  ridden  rapidly  away. 

The  cavalier,  equally  gratified,  appeared  also  perplexed :  as  if  hesi- 
tating whether  he  should  follow.  But  the  abrupt  departure  of  the 
lady  seemed  to  say  that  pursuit  was  prohibited;  and  checking  his  ard- 
or, along  with  his  steed,  he  remained  by  the  tree,  under  the  shadow 
oi  which  he  had  halted. 

For  some  minutes  he  sat  in  his  saddle,  apparently  absorbed  in  re- 
flections.  That  they  were  not  all  of  one  character,  was  evinced  by 
the  expression  upon  his  countenance;  which  kept  continually  chang- 
ing. Now  it  betokened  triumph,  with  its  concomitant  pleasure;  anon 
could  be  traced  the  lines  that  indicated  doubt,  accompanied  by  pain; 
and,  once  or  twice,  an  expression  that  told  of  regret,  or  re/ziorse,  was 
visible.  These  facial  changes  vtdll  be  better  understood  by  giving  in 
detail  the  thoughts  that  were  causing  them. 

"  Was  it  intended  for  a  challenge  ?  Can  I  doubt  it  ?  Had  the  in- 
cident been  alone,  I  might  have  deemed  it  accidental.  But  the  many 
&:nes  we  have  met — and  upon  this  lone  road!      Why  should  she 

come  this  way,  unless ?    And  her  looks?      On  each    occasion 

bolder  and  lovelier!  Oh,  how  sweet  to  be  thus  favored  ?  How  differ- 
ent from  that  oth#f  love,  that  has  had  such  unhappy  ending !  Then 
I  was  prized  but  for  my  position,  my  prospects,  and  my  fortune. 
When  these  fell  from  me,  oikly  to  be  forsaken  ! 

"  If  she  loves  me,  her  love  cannot  rest  on  circumstances  Uke  these^ 
She  knows  me  not — not  even  my  name !  That  she  may  have  heard, 
ean  suggest  neither  rank  nor  fortune,  ffshe  love  tm,  it  ri}fusi  ^  f^ 
jftjfself!    *%}»  a  thrilling  thought — ^thos  to  believe  I  ** 


BET  DANCET.  13 

The  ej8  of  the  cav&lier  lighted  up  with  fta  ixpresslon  of  triumph; 
tnd  he  sat  proudly  erect  in  his  saddle. 

Only  for  a  short  time  did  he  preserve  this  high  attitude.  Refleo 
tions  of  a  far  different  character  succeeded,  dissipating  the  happiness 
lie  had  for  the  moment  experienced. 

"  She  will  know  in  time !  She  must  know !  Even  I,  myself,  must 
tell  her  the  terrible  secret.  And  then  what  is  to  become  of  this  sweet 
but  transient  dream  ?  It  will  be  all  over ;  and,  instead  of  her  love,  I 
shall  become  the  object  of  her  hatred — ^her  scorn !  Oh  God !  To 
think  it  must  end  thus  !  To  think  that  I  have  won,  and  yet  ctQ 
never  wear!" 
The  features  of  the  speaker  became  overspread  with  a  deep  gloom. 
**  Why  did  I  enter  upon  this  intrigue  ?  Why  have  I  permitted  it 
to  proceed  ?  Why  do  I  desire  its  continuance  ?  To  all  these  ques- 
tions the  answer  is  the  same.  Who  could  have  resisted?  Wh© 
could  resist  ?  It  is  not  in  man's  nature  to  behold  such  beauty,  with- 
out yearning  to  possess  it.  As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  have  strug- 
gled to  subdue  this  unholy  passion — ^to  destroy  it — to  pluck  it  forth 
from  my  bosom.  I  have  tried  to  shun  the  presence  of  her  who  in- 
spires it.    Perhaps  I  might  have  succeeded ;  had  not  she .    Alas ! 

I  have  no  longer  the  power  to  retreat.  That  is  gone ;  and  the  will  aa 
weU.  I  must  on— on— like  the  insect  lured  by  some  fatal  light,  to 
self-sought  and  certain  destruction ! ' ' 

It  was  then  that  remorse  became  plainly  depicted  upon  the  coimte- 
nance  of  the  cavalier.  What  could  be  causing  it  ?  That  was  a  secret 
h»  scarcely  dared  declare  to  himself. 

**  After  all,"  he  continued,  a  new  train  of  thought  seeming  to  sug-  . 
ge^t  itself;  **what  if  it  be  an  accident — this,  that  has  made  me  at 
onee  so  happy,  and  yet  so  wretched  ?  Her  looks  too — ^those  glances 
tha^  have  gladdened  my  heart,  at  the  same  time  awaking  within  me 
n  coosciousness  of  wrong-doing,  as,  too  ardently,  I  gave  them  back— 
may  I  not  have  misinterpreted  them  ?  If  she  intended  that  I  should 
take  up  this  glove — ^that  I  should  restore  it  to  her — ^why  did  she  not 
•taj  to  receive  it  ?  Perhaps  I  have  been  misconceiving  her  motives. 
After  all,  am  I  the  victim  of  an  illusion — following  but  an  ignis  fa- 
hma  kindled  by  my  own  vanity  ?  ** 

At  the  moment  the  look  of  remorse  gave  place  to  one  of  chagrin. 
The  cavalier  apppeared  no  longer  to  regret  being  too  much  loved ;  but 
rather  that  he  might  not  be  loved  at  all—  a  reflectiQ9  f^  more  pain 


14 

"  Surely  I  cannot  be  mistaken.  I  saw  it  on  her  hand  but  an  iifltani 
before — ^with  the  hawk  perched  upon  it.  I  saw  her  suddenljr  fling  the 
bird  to  the  neck  of  the  horse,  and  draw  off  the  gauntlet,  which  the 
next  moment  fell  from  her  fingers.    Surely  it  was  design." 

He  raised  his  hand  to  his  hat,  took  the  glove  from  its  place,  and 
once  more  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"  Oh,  that  her  hand  were  in  it ! "  he  enthusiastically  exclaimed, 
yielding  to  a  sweet  &ncy.  "  If  it  were  her  fingers  I  held  thus  to  my 
lips — ^thus  unresisting— then  might  I  beliere  there  was  bliss  upon 
earth !  " 

A  footstep,  falling  upon  his  ear,  interrupted  the  enraptured  speech. 
It  was  light,  betokening  the  proxloiity  of  a  wom^  or  rather  tht 
presence  of  one ;  for,  on  turning,  his  eye  rested  upon  a  female  figure, 
standing  by  the  side  of  his  horse. 

The  cavalier  saw  before  him  a  comely  face — and  something  more^ 
He  might  have  deemed  it  beautiful ;  but  for  that  other,  still  present  to 
his  intellectual  eye,  and  altogether  engrossing  his  thoughts. 

It  was  a  young  girl  who  had  thus  silently  intruded ;  and  one 
irorthy  of  a  gracious  reception,  despite  the  peasant  garb  in  which  she 
had  presented  herself. 

Both  face  and  figure  were  such  as  could  not  be  regarded  with  in- 
difference, nor  dismissed  without  reflection.  Neither  owed  aught  to 
Ihe  adornment  of  art ;  but  to  both  had  nature  been  liberal ;  even  to 
profuseness. 

A  girl,  closely  approximating  to  womanhood ;  largely  framed,  and 
finely  developed — ^in  arms,  limbs,  bust,  and  body,  e^diibiting  those 
oval  outlines  that  indicate  the  possession  of  strong  passions  andpow- 
•rs. 
Such  was  the  creature  who  stood  by  the  horse  of  Henry  Holtspur. 
But  for  their  blackness,  her  eyes  might  have  been  likened  to  those 
of  an  eagle ;  but  for  its  softness,  her  hair  resembled  the  tail  of  his  own 
gt&dd— equally  long  and  luxuriant ;  and  her  teeth — ^there  could  havo 
been  nothing  whiter,  even  among  the  chalk  of  the  Ghilterns^^hei 
native  hills. 

Robed  in  silk,  satm,  or  velvet;  it  was  a  form  that  would  have  doni 
ftc  discredit  to  a  queen.  Encircled  with  pearls,  or  precious  diamonds ; 
it  was  a  foce  of  which  a  princess  might  be  proud.  Even  in  the  or- 
iiuary  homespun  of  a  rustic  gown,  that  form  looked  queenly — beneatb 
those  glossy  plaits  of  crow-black  haii — bedecked  with  some  freshly 
blacked  flower8--th«t  %ie  might  have  inspired  «nv^  in  a  priiioefls. 


BET  T3tW0ET.  1ft 

ta  the  ^ance  bestowed  upon  her  by  the  cavalier  there  was  no  sigt 
—either  of  surprise,  or  admiration.  It  was  simplj  a  look  of  recois* 
nition ;  accompanied  by  a  nod,  acknowledging  her  presence. 

In  the  eye  of  the  maiden,  there  was  no  such  indifference.  The 
iaost  careless  observer  could  have  told,  that  she  was  in  love  with  the 
nan  upon  whom  she  was  now  gazing. 

The  horseman  took  no  heed  of  her  admiring  glances.  Perhaps  h« 
Noticed  them  not.  His  attenuion  was  altogether  given  to  an  ob^3ct, 
rhich  the  girl  held  in  her  outstretched  hand ;  and  which  was  instantly 
transferred  to  his.    It  was  a  letter,  sealed,  and  directed  to  himself. 

'' Thanks !"  said  he,  breaking  open  the  seal.  "Your  father  has 
brought  this  from  Uxbridge,  I  suppose  ?  *' 

"  He  has,  sir.  He  sent  me  with  it ;  and  bid  me  ask  you  if  there  h% 
ma  answer  to  go  back.  As  you  were  not  at  the  house,  I  brought  it 
here.    I  hope  I  have  done  right,  sir !  " 

"  Oh,  certainly !  But  how  did  you  know  where  to  find  me  ?  My 
tongueless  attendant,  Oriole,  could  not  have  told  you  ?  " 

*'  He  made  sign,  sur,  that  you  had  taken  this  road.  I  thou^t  I 
should  meet  you  here ;  and  father  said  it  might  be  important  for  yon 
to  have  the  letter  at  once.  " 

The  red  blood  mantled  higher  upon  the  girl's  cheeks,  as  she  offered 
this  explanation.  She  knew  she  had  exceeded  her  father's  instruo- 
iions ;  which  had  been,  simply,  to  leave  the  letter  at  "  Stone  Deane^" 
the  residence  of  Henry  Holtspur. 

The  cavalier,  occupied  with  the  epistle,  noticed  neither  her  blusli- 
fB  nor  embarrassment. 

€€  9T£^  ygpy  considerate  of  you ;"  said  he,  turning  gratefully  towards 
the  girl,  as  he  finished  reading  the  letter.  "  Tour  father  has  guessed 
eorrectly.  It  is  of  the  greatest  importance  that  I  should  have  had 
this  letter  in  good  time.  Tou  may  tell  him  that  it  needs  no  reply. 
I  must  answer  it  in  person,  and  at  once  But  say.  Mistress  Betsey ; 
irhat  return  can  I  make  to  you  for  this  dnd  service  ?  You  want  a 
ribbon  for  your  beautiful  black  hair?  What  color  is^ittobe?  I 
think  blue — such  as  those  fiowers  are— does  not  so  well  become  you. 
Shall  it  be  a  red  one  ?  " 

The  words,  though  courteously  intended,  fell  with  an  unpleasant 
effect  upon  the  ear  of  her  to  whom  they  were  addressed.  They  were 
not  the  speeches  to  which  she  would  fain  have  listened. 

"  Thanks,  sir;"  said  she,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  pique,  or  some 
other  unlooked-for  emotion.  "  A  fine  ribbon  would  scarce  suit  m/ 
loarse  common  hair.    These  flowers  are  good  enou^  for  it ! " 


16  A  8U8PI0IOUB   LOTEB. 

**  Ah  Mistress  Betsey !  Your  beautiful  tresses  eaL  bear  this  di» 
paragement;  you  know  they  are  neither  coarse  nor  common  Nay, 
if  you  refuse  the  ribbon,  you  must  accept  the  price  of  one.  I  cannot 
fcllow  that  the  essential  service  you  have  done  me  should  gc  acre* 
irarded.  Take  this  piece  of  gold,  and  make  purchase  with  it  t^  sm| 
yourself— scarf,  gown  or  gloves — which  ever  you  please.'* 

Somewhat  to  the  cavaher's  surprise,  his  hberal  largess  was  rejected 
^— not  with  scorn,  but  rather  vrith  an  air  of  sadness — sufficiently  mark* 
•d  to  have  been  noticed  by  him,  had  he  not  been  altogether  uusu»^ 
picious  of  the  cause. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  putting  back  the  coin  into  his  purse,  "  I  am 
•orry  you  will  not  permit  me  to  make  some  amends  for  your  kind- 
ness. Perhaps  I  may  find  an  opportunity  on  some  future  occasion- 
Meanwhile  I  must  be  gone.  The  letter  you  have  delivered  summons 
me  hence — ^without  delay.  Many  thanks.  Mistress  Betsey,  and  a  fair 
good  morning  to  you.  " 

A  touch  of  the  spur  caused  his  chafing  steed  to  spring  out  into  the 
middle  of  the  road;  and  the  rider,  heading  him  for  the  highway  that 
conducted  towards  Uxbridge,  soon  swept  round  the  corner — at  the 
same  instant  becoming  lost  to  the  sight  of  the  dark-eyed  damsel— 
whose  glance,  full  of  passion  and  disappointment,  had  followed  him 
lo  Ui«  point  of  hia  disappearance. 


CHAPTER  III. 


A  BVBTIOIOVB  LOTIB. 


The  girl  listened  awhile  to  the  departing  hoofstrokes,  as  they  camt 
back  with  clear  resonance  from  the  hard  causeway.  Then  dropping 
her  eyes  to  the  ground,  she  stood  silent  under  a  tree — ^her  swartb 
eomplexion  still  further  darkened  by  sombre  shadows,  now  over- 
ipreading  every  feature  of  her  face. 

Not  long  did  she  continue  in  this  silent  attitude. 

"I  would  have  taken  the  ribbon,"  muttered  she,  "as  a  gift — ^if  he 
luul  miMnt  it  that  way.    But  it  wasn't  so.    No.    It  wasoaj(ya8toa^ef 


A  SUBPI0I0U8   LOVBB.  1| 

kt  offered  it  to  me;  and  his  money — ^that  was  worse  I  Had  it  leen  a 
lock  of  his  hair.  Ah !  I  would  rather  he  gave  i::;^  that  than  all  tki 
gold  coins  in  his  purse,  or  all  the  silks  in  the  shops  of  Uxbridge. 

"He  called  my  hair  beautiful;  twice  he  said  so ! 

**  Did  he  mean  it  ?  Or  was  it  only  mocking  of  me  ?  I  am  sure  1 
do  not  think  so  myself;  though  others  have  told  me  the  pame.  1 
wish  it  were  fair,  instead  of  dark,  like  that  of  Mistress  Marion  Wade 
Then,  perhaps  it  would  be  beautiful ! 

"Blue  don't  become  me,  he  says.  Lie  there,  despised  oolinrl 
Never  more  shall  blue  blossom  be  seen  in  the  hair  of  Bet  Dancey.** 

As  she  said  this,  she  plucked  the  bunch  of  harebells  from  behind 
her  comb;  and  flung  the  flowers  at  her  feet. 

"It  was  Will,  that  gave  them  to  me;  "  she  continued.  "He  onl/ 
gathered  them  an  hour  ago.  What  if  he  were  here  to  see  them  now } 
Ah !  what  care  I  ? — ^what  should  I  care  ?  I  never  gave  him  reasott-  - 
not  the  least  bit.  They  were  worn  to-day,  not  to  please  him;  but  ia 
hopes  of  pleasing  one  I  do  care  for.  Had  I  thought  that  that  oni 
liked  not  blue,  there  were  plenty  of  red  ones  in  the  old  garden  of 
Stone  Dean.  I  might  have  gathered  some  as  I  came  through  it 
What  a  pity  I  didn't  know  the  color  he  likes  best !" 

"  Ha !  "  she  exclaimed,  starting  forward  upon  the  path ;  and  bend- 
ing down  over  the  spot  where  the  flowers  had  fallen — and  where  the 
dust  showed  signs  of  having  been  recently  disturbed.  "  That  is  not 
the  track  of  his  horse.  That  little  shoe — ^I  know  it — ^Mistreat 
Marion  Wade !  '* 

For  a  second  or  two  the  speaker  preserved  her  stooping  attitude^ 
silently  regarding  the  tracks.  She  saw  they  were  fresh — that  they 
had  been  made  fresh  that  morning — ^in  fact,  within  the  hour. 

Hef  father  was  a  forester — a  woodman  by  calling — at  times,  a 
Btealer  of  deer.  She  had  been  bom  in  the  forest — ^brought  up  under 
the  shadow  of  its  trees.  She  was  capable  of  interpreting  that  sign-^ 
too  capable  for  the  tranquillity  of  her  spirit. 

"Mistress  Marion  has  been  here,**  she  muttered.  "Of  late,  oflwi 
kaTe  I  seen  these  tracks,  and  twice  the  lady  herself.  What  brings 
her  along  this  lonely  road  ?  What  has  she  been  doing  here  this  morn- 
ing ?    Could  it  be  to  meet  him  1  ** 

She  had  no  time  to  conjecture  a  response  to  this  self-asked  inters 
rogatory. 

As  the  words  passed  from  her  lips,  her  attention  was  attracted  to 
the  sound  of  hoofs — a  horse  moving  at  a  gallop  along  the  mam  roa<i 
Could  it  be  the  ci^valier  coming  bacl^? 


M  A  BUSPI0IOU8  LCVKB. 

No.  It  was  *  peasant  on  a  sorry  steed— the  same  who  had  passed 
the  other  way  scarcely  an  hour  beforo— the  same  who  had  giTei 
ehagrin  to  Mistress  Marion  Wade. 

It  was  the  woodman,  Will  Walford. 

The  girl  appeared  desirous  of  shunning  him;  but  he  had  caught 
sight  of  her  crimson  cloak,  and  an  encounter  was  unaroidable. 

''Aw,  Bet!  be  it  thee,  girl?"  he  cried  out,  as  he  came  within 
speaking  distance.  "  Why  it  beeant  all  o'  an  hour  since  I  left  thee  at 
thy  hum  !    What's  brought  thee  this  way  ? " 

**  Father  got  home  soon  after  you  left.  He  came  by  th«  wood  path, 
and  missed  you,  I  suppose." 

''Like  enough  for  that  part  of  the  story,"  replied  the  man,  appear* 
mg  to  suspect  preyarication;  "but  that  an't  gieing  an  answar  to  my 
question.    I  asked  as  how  you  yerself  coomeu  this  way  ?  " 

«  Oh,  me  you  mean.  Will  ?  " 

"Ees— myself,  Bet!" 

"  Father  brought  a  letter  from  Uxbridge  for  Master  Holtspur.  H« 
was  tired  when  he  got  home ;  and  as  you  had  the  old  horae»  ba  sent 
me  over  to  Stone  Dean  with  it." 

"But  Stone  Dean  an't  here — ^not  by  a  good  half  mile.'* 

*'  I  went  there  first.  Master  Holtspur  wasn't  at  home ;  and  as  the 
dmnmy  made  signs  that  he  was  gone  along  the  road,  and  would  soon 
be  back,  I  followed  him.  Father  said  the  letter  waa  important,  and 
told  me  to  give  it  to  Master  Holtspur  at  once." 

"You  seed  Holtspur,  then?  " 

"I  did.  Will.  I  oyertook  him  whera  ha  was  stoppmg  bara  nndar 
the  old  beech  tree." 

"  And  what  did  thee  then  ?  " 

"  Give  him  the  letter — ^what  else  should  I  do  ?  " 

"  Ay,  what  else  ?  Dang  it.  Bet  Dancey,  thee  art  too  fond  o'  nm- 
nin*  after  other  people's  business,  an'  this  Master  Holtspur'a  m  par- 
ticklar— that's  what  thee  be." 

"  It  was  my  father's  business.  What  had  I  to  do  with  the  letter 
but  deliver  it,  as  I  was  told  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  about  it,  then,"  rejoined  the  surly  sweetheart,  whose 
Incipient  jealousy  was  somewhat  appeased  by  the  explanation.  "  Jump 
up,  an'  ride  behint !  I  han't  got  the  pillion;  but  you  won't  mind 
that,  since  it's  your  own  nag,  and  knows  it's  you.  Bet.  He'll  mak» 
his  old  rump  as  soft  as  a  cushion  for  you.  Hi — ^hullo !  where's  th« 
blue  blossoms  I  gied  you  for  your  hair  ?  Dan^  me  if  thai  beant  tham 
acattered  oyar  the  ground  thear  I  **  . 


u 

••Indeed !  **  said  Bet,  with  a  feigned  look  of  surprise,  "so  it  is. 
They  must  have  fallen  out  as  I  was  fixing  my  comb.  Father  started 
me  off  in  such  a  hurry,  I  hadn't  half  time  to  put  it  in  its  place.  This 
tair  of  mine's  a  bother,  anyhow.  It's  by  half  too  thick,  and  gives 
me  constant  trouble  to  keep  it  pinned  up.  I  shall  have  it  cut  short 
I  think,  hke  those  Puritan  people,  who  are  getting  to  be  so  plenty- 
How  would  you  like  that  WiU  ?  " 

"  Dang  it !  not  at  all.  It  would  never  do  to  crop  thy  bonny  locki 
that  fashion.  'T  would  complete  spoil  it.  Never  mind  them  flowers, 
Iiss.  Thear  be  plenty  more  where  they  coom  from;  an'  I'm  a  bit 
hurried  just  now  to  see  thy  father.  Yee  up,  then ;  an'  let  us  haste 
hom'ard." 

The  girl,  not  without  some  show  of  reluctance,  obeyed  what  ap 
peared  as  much  a  mandate  as  a  request ;  and,  climbing  to  the  croup, 
she  extended  her  arms  round  the  waist  of  him  who,  though  calling 
himgeif  her  lower,  waa  to  her  an  object  of  fear  rather  than  afiOactioB. 


OHAPTER  TV. 
txi  ooirsiva. 

Haring  re-entered  the  gates  of  the  park,  Marion  Wade  checked 
her  palfrey  into  a  walk ;  and,  at  this  p«se,  continued  on  towards  the 
paternal  mansion. 

The  scarlet  that  late  tinted  her  cheeks  had  become  subdued 
There  was  pallor  in  its  place.  Her  lips  even  showed  signs  of  blanch- 
ing. 

In  her  eye  there  was  a  cowed  look — as  if  she  had  committed  crime, 
and  feared  discovery !  But  gazing  on  that  face,  you  could  scarce 
think  of  crime.    It  was  too  fair  to  be  associated  with  sin. 

She  sat  negligently  in  her  saddle — the  undulating  outlines  of  her 
majestic  form  rendered  more  conspicuous  by  the  movements  of  her 
palfrey ;  as  it  straired  up  the  acclivity  of  the  hill. 

The  hawk  had  l^en  restored  to  its  perch ;  but  the  gauntlet  no 
longer  shielded  her  wrist ;  and  the  poimces  of  the  burd,  penetrating 


iU  T&£!  CX^tTSHtd. 

the  tender  skh,  had  dravrn  blood.  A  tmy  stream  laced  the  silKet 
tpidermis  of  her  hand,  and  trickled  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

She  felt  not  the  wound.  She  beheld  not  the  blood.  The  emotion! 
if  her  soul  deadened  the  external  senses ;  and,  absorbed  in  the  con- 
templation of  her  rash  act — ^half  repentmg  of  it — she  was  conscious 
of  naught  else,  till  her  palfrey  came  to  a  stop  under  the  windows  of 
the  dwelling. 

Giving  her  bridle  to  a  groom,  she  dropped  lightly  to  her  feet ;  and 
glided  silently  towards  a  side  door  of  the  house — ^intending  to  enter 
unobserved.  In  her  own  chamber,  she  might  more  securely  give  way 
f.o  that  tumult  of  thoughts  and  passions,  now  agitating  her  bosom. 

Her  design  was  frustrated.  As  she  approached  the  portal,  a  clear 
voice,  ringing  along  the  corridor,  called  her  by  name ;  and  the  instant 
after  a  fair  form — almost  as  fair  as  her  own — issuing  forth,  ghded  up 
by  her  side. 

It  was  LonH-the  eou«m  spoken  of  in  her  late  soliloquy — Lora 
Lovelace. 

"  Give  me  the  little  pet,"  cried  Lora,  reaching  forward,  and  lifting 
the  hawk  from  its  perch.  "Oh,  Marion  !  "  continued  she,  drawing 
back  at  sight  of  the  blood.     "  What  is  this  ?    You  are  wounded  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  indeed,  yes.  I  did  not  notice  it  before.  The  kestrel  must 
have  caused  it.  The  wicked  jade !  Her  claws  need  coping.  Don't 
trouble  about  it,  child.    It's  nothing." 

"  But  where  is  your  gauntlet,  Marion  ?  If  it  had  been  on  your 
hftLd,  you  would  not  have  got  scratched  in  this  fashion ! " 

"  Ah  !  the  gauntlet  ?    Where  is  it  ?    Let  me  see." 

Marion  made  search  about  her  dress — ^in  the  crown  of  her  beaver 
—everywhere  that  might  give  concealment  to  a  glove.    An  idle  search. 

"  I  must  have  dropped  it !  "  added  she,  feigning  surprise.  "  Per- 
haps it  is  sticking  somewhere  about  the  saddle  ?  If  not,  I  must  have 
lost  it  upon  the  road.  It  don't  signify.  I  must  buy  me  a  new  pair 
--that^B  aU." 

"  Dtjarest  cousin !  "  said  Lora,  speaking  in  %  tone  of  eainest  ap- 
pfcal ;  "  the  sight  of  blood  always  makes  me  think  of  danger.  I  am 
never  happy  when  you  are  out  alone  on  these  distant  hawking  excur- 
sions. Marion,  you  should  take  attendants  vnth  you ;  or  remain 
within  the  enclosure.    I  am  sure  there  is  danger  outside." 

"  Danger  outside  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Perhaps  you  are  right  there^ 
little  Lora,  Perhaps  it's  that  which  lures  me  beyond  the  palings  of 
Ihe  park !    When  I  go  forth  to  hawk  or  hunt,  I  don't  care  to  be 


THE  oousma.  SI 

•ooped  up  by  enclosiirM.    Qive  me  the  wild  game  that  has  free  range 
•f  the  forest!** 

"  But  think,  Marion !  You  know  what  we've  heard  about  the 
highwaymen  ?  It's  true  about  the  lady  being  stopped  on  Red  Hill— 
h.  her  carriage,  too.  Uncle  says  it  is  5  and  that  these  robbers  ar^ 
growing  bolder  every  day,  on  account  of  the  bad  government.  Oh, 
cousin,  take  my  advice  !  and  don't  any  more  go  out  alone." 

"  Good  counsel,  daughter ;  though  it  be  given  you  by  one  youngei 
than  yourself.  I  hope  you  will  set  store  by  it ;  and  not  leave  m€ 
under  the  necessity  of  strengthening  it  by  a  command." 

The  tall  middle-aged  gentleman,  of  noble  serious  mien — who,  step- 
ping forth,  had  entered  thus  abruptly  into  the  conversation — ^was  Sir 
Marmaduke  Wade,  the  father  of  Marion,  and  uncle  of  Lora. 

"Your  cousin  speaks  truly,"  continued  he;  "audit's  well  I  am 
reminded  of  it.  There's  no  longer  any  safety  on  the  roads.  Not 
much  in  one's  own  house,  so  far  as  that  goes :  for  there  are  two  kinds 
of  robbery  just  now  rife  in  this  unhappy  land — ^in  the  King's 
court,  as  on  the  King's  highway.  Henceforth  children,  confine  your 
rambles  within  the  limits  of  the  park.  Even  with  attendants,  yom 
may  not  be  safe  outside.** 

"  That  is  true,"  affirmed  Lora.  **  The  lady  who  was  stopped  had 
several  attendiwats — I  think  you  said  so,  uncle  ?  ** 

"  Six  of  different  sorts,  escorting  her  carriage.  In  sooth,  a  valiant 
escort !  They  all  scampered  off.  Of  course  they  did.  How  could 
they  be  loyal,  with  a  corrupt  administration,  such  as  ours ;  destroy* 
ing  every  vestige  of  honesty  and  loyalty  in  the  realm  ?  Men  are  sure 
to  become  vile  if  only  to  imitate  their  masters.  But  come,  my 
children  !  Let  us  hope  for  better  times ;  and,  to  keep  up  the  char- 
acter of  merry  Old  England,  I've  planned  an  entertainment  for  you 
—one  that  all  our  friends  and  neighbors  are  to  take  part  in." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  asked  Lora  whose  spirit  was,  at  the  moment,  mors 
highly  attuned  to  the  idea  of  pastime  than  that  of  her  silent  lousia* 

"  A  ftte  diamp'tre, * ' 

"Where?    Here?    In  our  own  park ?** 

•*In  our  own  park,  of  course." 

**  And  who  are  to  be  invited,  dear  uncle  ?  '* 

**  Everybody  for  ten  miles  round ;  and  farther,  if  they  choose  tl 
eome.    I  don't  mind  an  ox  or  two  extra  for  the  occasion.'* 

"  Occasion !  what,  uncle  ?  It  isn't  Christmas ! — ^it  isn't  Whitsua 
6do !  nor  yet  May-day  !'* 


Sa  WALTte  WADfi. 

**  Can  jou  think  of  nothing  except  holidays  ?  What  say  jrmi  to  I 
birthday  ?  " 

"Oh!  true;  Walter's  will  be  next  week.  But,  papa,  is  brother 
coming  home  ?  '* 

"  That's  it.  He  is  to  arrive  on  the  eve  of  his  birthday.  Poor  lad ! 
he's  been  a  long  while  from  us ;  not  long  enough,  I  hope,  to  get 
spoiled  in  a  dangerous  school.  Well,  we  must  give  him  a  welcome 
worthy  of  old  Bucks.  And  now,  girls  !  go  to  work;  and  see  that 
you  do  your  share  in  making  preparation  for  our  guests.'* 

With  this  parting  injunction,  the  knight  turned  back  into  th« 
house ;  leaving  his  niece  and  daughter  to  discuss  the  pleasant  subject 
he  had  placed  before  them. 

For  some  seconds  after  he  was  gone,  there  was  no  exchange  of 
•peech  between  the  cousins.    Each  was  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts. 

"  Oh  !  'twill  be  a  happy  day ;  for  Walter  will  be  here !  "  was  the 
secret  reflection  of  Lora. 

Marion's,  in  a  somewhat  similar  strain,  was  less  afiSrmatiye  :^ 

^Oh!  'twould  be  a  happy  day,  if  Holtspur  should  be  here!" 


CHAPTER  V 


VALVim     WADB 


Autumn  w»8  still  in  the  sky;  but  it  had  passed  its  midtime ;  and 
the  beechen  forests  of  Bucks  were  enrobed  in  their  livery  of  yellow- 
green.  The  cuckoo  had  forsaken  the  copse ;  and  the  swallows  were 
making  rendezvous  on  the  spire  of  the  village  church.  The  ringdove 
sat  silent  in  the  dell ;  and  the  woodquests  were  gathering  into  groups. 
The  pheasant  ventured  with  her  young  brood  beyond  the  cover-edge; 
the  partridge  carried  her  chicks  across  the  stubble ;  and  finch,  spar- 
row, and  linnet,  were  forming  their  respective  families  into  full-fledged 
cohorts — ^in  preparation  for  those  dark,  chill  days,  when  they  would 
Ueed  such  companionship  to  cheer  them. 

In  truth,  it  is  a  right  fair  land,  this  same  shire  of  Bucks^ovely 
W  its  spring-tide;  fiiir  in  its  summer  bloom;  and  fairer  still  in  iU 


WALTER  WADE.  || 

Oetober.  You  may  travel  far,  without  beholding  a  spot  more  bewitch* 
ing  than  the  land  of  the  beechen  "  weed ;  "  and  embosomed  within  tht 
undulating  arms  of  the  Chil terns,  is  many  a  spot  worthy  of  wider  r©. 
nown.  The  mountain  you  meet  not,  the  lake  is  rare ;  but  the  softly 
swelling  hill,  and  deep  romantic  dale,  are  ever  before  and  aroimd you; 
and  the  eye  of  traveler,  or  tourist,  is  continually  attracted  to  scenei 
of  sylvan  beauty,  upon  which  it  long  delights  to  linger. 

So  thought  a  youthful  stripling,  astride  a  stout  steed ;  as,  emer- 
ging from  the  town-end  of  Uxbridge,  he  rode  over  the  old  bridg« 
crossing  the  Colne. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  Ghiltem  hills;  whose  forest- 
dad  spurs  stretched  do^m  into  the  plain — ^as  if  to  meet  and  welcomt 

him. 

It  was  a  fair  landscape  that  unfolded  itself  before  his  eyes.  Upon 
the  ridge  of  Red  Hill,  the  rays  of  the  descending  sun  slanted  among 
the  leaves  of  the  beeches ;  heightening  their  yellow  sear  to  the  hue  0/ 
gold.  Here  and  there  the  wild  cherry  tree,  of  more  radiant  foliage; 
the  green  oak,  and  the  darker  green  of  the  holly,  mottled  the  slope : 
while  rtn  either  flank,  lying  low  among  hills,  the  valleys  of  Alder- 
1  Chalfont  were  gradually  becommg  shrouded  under  iim 
purple  shadow  of  the  twilight. 

Right  and  left  meandered  the  Colne,  through  meadows  of  emeratd 
Terdure — its  broad  unrippled  surface  reflecting  the  sapphire  sky; 
while  on  its  banks  appeared  herds  of  sleek  kine,  slowly  lounging 
along  the  grassy  sward,  or  standing  motionless  in  the  stream — as  i 
placed  there  to  give  the  last  touch  to  a  scene  typical  of  tranquillity 
and  contentment. 

It  was  a  scene  worthy  of  Watteau  or  Cuyp— a  picturt  calculated 
to  create  a  quiet  joy,  even  in  the  breast  of  a  stranger.  So  imghi 
have  thought  Walter  Wade ;  who,  after  a  long  absence  from  this  his 
native  shire,  now  gazing  on  its  wood-embowered  hills  and  valleys, 
recognized  the  mise  en  sc.ne  of  his  boyhood's  home  ! 

The  young  traveler  felt  such  a  happiness.  On  cresting  the  high 
causeway  of  the  old  bridge — ^which  brought  the  Chilterns  full  before 
his  view— he  reined  up  his  horse  in  the  middle  of  the  road ;  while  at 
the  same  time  an  ejaculation  escaped  from  his  lips,  indicative  of  the 
pleasure  which  the  sight  afforded. 

"  Dear  old  Chilterns  I  "  he  exclaimed.  "Friends  you  seem,  with 
arms  outstretched  to  receive  me  !  How  bright  and  fresh  you  look  to 
»n0  coming  from  that  sooty  London !    What  a  pity  I  did  not  start  a* 


M  WALTER  WADB. 

hour  earlier — so  that  I  might  have  enjoyed  this  fine  sunset  f5pom  ihk 
aummit  of  Red  Hill !  No  matter.  There  will  be  moonlight  anon ; 
And  that  will  do  just  as  well.  Sunlight  or  moonlight,  give  me  a  ridi 
through  the  beechen  woods  of  Bucks.     Charming  at  all  hours  !  " 

"I'  faith,  I  wonder, *'  continued  he,  becoming  more  reflective  in  hii 
soliloquy ;  "how  any  one  can  fsmcy  a  city  life  !  I'm  sure,  I've  been 
well  enough  placed  to  enjoy  it.  The  queen  has  been  very  kind—* 
very  kind  indeed.  She  has  twice  kissed  me.  And  the  king,  too,  hal 
complimented  me  on  my  service — only  at  parting  he  was  very  angry 
with  me.    I  don't  know  why.    /  did  nothing  to  anger  him. 

"I  wonder  why  I'm  summoned  home?    Father  don't  say  in  hia 
letter ;  but  I  suppose  he'll  tell  me  when  I  arrive  there.    No  matter, 
I'm  only  too  glad  to  get  back  to  dear  old  Bulstrode.    I  hope  that  in 
veterate  deer-stealer,  Dick  Dancy,  hasn't  killed  off  all  our  deer.    1 
mean  to  go  in  for  some  grand  stalking  this  winter — that  do  I. 

"  Let  me  see !  Three  years — no ;  it  will  be  three  come  Christmas— 
since  I  took  service  at  Court.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  cousin  Lora 
is  grown  a  big  girl  by  this;  and  sister  Marion  too?  Ah!  Marion 
was  big  enough  when  I  left.  Lora  won't  be  as  tall  as  she.  No — she 
wasn't  the  make  for  that.  Lora  would  be  what  the  queen  c&Us petite. 
For  all  that,  I  dare  say  she's  got  to  be  a  grown  woman.  She  was 
just  my  own  age;  and  I  think  I  may  say,  that  I'm  now  a  man. 
Heigho !     How  time  passes  !  " 

And,  as  if  the  reflection  had  suggested  the  necessity  of  making  as 
much  of  the  time  as  possible,  the  young  horseman  gave  the  whip  to 
his  steed,  shot  out  from  between  the  parapet  walls  of  the  bridge,  and 
passed  on  at  a  canter. 

Though  Walter  Wade  had  pronounced  himself  a  man — somewhat 
modestly  it  must  be  admitted — the  statement  was  scarcely  correct ; 
and  the  error  must  be  attributed  to  a  very  common  and  pardonable 
weakness  of  boyhood,  ambitious  of  entering  upon  manhood. 

He  was  still  only  a  striphng — a  youth  of  nineteen — ^though  well 
grown  for  his  age ;  and  in  point  of  size  might  have  passed  mustey 
among  men.  A  slight  moustache  already  appeared  upon  his  upper 
lip.  It  was  light-colored,  hke  his  hair — neither  of  which  was  red, 
but  of  that  Saxon  "  yellow  "  so  often  associated  with  eyes  of  blue; 
and  which,  when  met  with  in  woman,  presents  the  fairest  type  of  fe^ 
male  beauty. 

The  Greeks — ^themselves  a  dark  people,  above  all  others  skilled  in 
feminine  charms — ^have  acknowledged  this  truth,  though  by  that  ac- 
knowledgenrent  ignoring  the  claims  of  their  own  race. 


Walter  WAbis.  S5 

To  the  spume  of  the  sea  was  the  Oyprian  goddess  indebted  fcr  the 
whiteness  of  her  skin — to  the  blue  sky,  for  the  color  of   her  eyes— 
to  the  golden  sun,  for  the  hue  ot  her  hair.     Among  the  classic  an 
cients,  the  dark  haired  Venus  elicited  but  little  admiration. 

And  not  very  different  is  the  partiality  of  the  moderns. 

The  belle  of  the  ball-room  is  invariably  a  blonde ;  and  even  the 
nymphe  du  pav3,  who  trails  golden  pennants  from  under  the  rim  of  her 
coquettish  hat>  looks  scornfully  askance  at  the  darker  tresses  of  her 
sister  in  sin ! 

It  is  odd  that  blue  eyes  do  not  admire  blue  eyes —  that  light-col- 
ored tresses  do  not  wish  to  be  interwoven  with  those  of  a  Uke  hue. 
Is  there  an  instinct  of  approximation  between  extremes  ?  Do  con- 
trasts possess  an  innate  desire  for  contiguity  ?  If  so,  it  would  ex- 
plain the  penchant  of  the  dark  Athenians  for  the  fair-skinned 
Oytherea. 

There  are  fair-haired  youths  whom  men  may  admire ;  and  woman 
love.    "Walter  Wade  was  such  a  one. 

A  forehead  of  fine  expanse,  crested  with  curling  hair — a  nose  su^ 
ftoiently  aquiline  to  exhibit  the  true  aristocratic  breed — a  chin  prom- 
inent— ^lips  typical  of  contempt  for  aught  that  was  mean.  Such  wer« 
his  features. 

Gazing  upon  his  face,  you  might  not  pronounce  it  handsome.  For 
a  man,  it  might  appear  too  feminine.  But  if  you  were  at  all  skilled 
in  Saxon  physiognomy,  on  seeing  such  a  face,  and  knowing  that  tbe 
owner  of  it  had  a  sister,  you  might  safely  set  her  down  as  a  being  of 
mcompasable  beauty. 

It  was  not  necessary  to  have  overheard  his  soliloquy,  to  tell  that  he 
who  made  it,  was  the  scion  of  some  distinguished  house.  The  good 
steed  he  bestrode,  caparisoned  in  costly  fashion ;  the  rich  costume 
he  wore ;  his  sharply  chiseled  featiures,  and  aristocratic  bearing — all 
betokened  the  filiv^  nohilis. 

He  was,  in  effect,  the  son  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  of  Bulstrode 
Park ;  who  could  point  to  an  ancestry  older  than  the  Conquest,  and 
whose  Saxon  sires — along  with  the  Bulstrodes,  the  Hampden s,  and 
the  Penns — ^had  so  doughtily  defended  their  beechen  woods  and  broad 
fields  against  the  Norman  invader,  that  the  great  Conqueror  was 
pleased  to  compound  vrith  them  for  a  continuance  of  their  tenure 
It  was  a  family  with  whom  kings  had  never  been  favorites.  It  had 
figured  among  the  barons,  who  had  forced  the  tyrant  John  to  set  hia 
signal  11(3  to  the  celebrated  Charter  of  English  liberty  ;  and  elsewhere 


have  its  representatives  been  found  in  the  front  rank  oi  ttM  ehain^ 
ions  of  Freedom. 

It  may  be  wondered  why  young  Walter  Wade  had  been  in  thi 
service  of  the  Court — as  declared  in  his  soliloquy.  That,  however,  tg 
easily  explained.  An  ambitious  mother,  of  queenly  inclinations — an 
uncle  in  high  ofiBce  near  the  throne — these  will  account  for  the  son  :f 
Sir  Marmaduke  having  stood  as  a  page  in  the  Presence. 

But  the  mother's  influence  was  now  at  an  end.  She  was  no  more. 
And  that  of  her  brother — the  uncle — was  not  strong  enough  to  pre« 
vent  Sir  Marmaduke  recalling  his  son  from  a  Court — whose  immora- 
lity had  become  the  theme  of  every  tongue ;  and  whose  contamination 
the  fond  father  but  so  justly  dreaded. 

This  was  why  the  stripling  was  on  his  return  to  the  paternal  man- 
sion ;  and  why  the  king  had  shown  displeasure  at  parting  with  him.  It 
was  a  bold  act  on  the  part  of  the  knight ;  and  it  might  need  all  the 
influence  of  his  ofl&cial  brother-in-law,  to  avert  from  him  the  vengeance 
of  Charles — that  most  contemptible  of  tyrants. 

I;  was  not  upon  these  things  that  Widter  Wade  was  reflecting,  ai 
he  rode  onward.  A  pleasanter  theme  was  the  subjeot  of  bis  thonghti 
— (lis  oousin  Lora. 

It  was  love's  young  dream — ^by  some  deemed  the  sweetest  in  lift 
is  perhaps  the  most  evanescent. 

With  Walter,  it  had  not  been  so  very  fleeting.  Starting  at  sixteeiv 
it  was  now  nearly  three  years  old.  It  had  stood  the  test  of  a  long 
absence ;  and  under  circumstances  most  unfavorable  to  love's  endur- 
ance; amid  smiling  maids  of  honor,  and  dames  of  high  degrea 
Yes ;  Walter's  heart  had  nobly  repelled  the  blandishments  of  mor« 
than  one  belle;  and  this,  too,  in  a  court  famed  for  its /air. 

That  kiss,  somewhat  coyly  granted  by  his  cousin,  "  deep  in  a  for- 
est dell,  "  where  they  had  wandered  in  search  of  wild  flowers — that 
soft  pressure  of  Lora's  little  hand — those  thrilling  words,  **  Dear 
Walter, "  that  on  the  same  occasion  had  fallen  from  Lora's  pretty 
lips — all  were  remembered,  as  if  they  had  been  incidents  of  yester- 
day. 

Did  sJie  remember  them  with  equal  interest !  This  was  the  thought 
upon  which  Walter  Wade  had  been  dwellk^g  ever  since  parting  from 
the  portals  of  Whitehall  Palace. 

During  his  two  years  of  absence,  he  had  not  been  left  altogether 
uninformed  of  what  was  passing  at  Bulstrode.  Though  in  thos« 
days  If  tters  were  written  at  long  intervals — and  then  only  on  mat 


"the  kino!''  ^ 

teri  oTgrett  importance — Walter  had  kept  up  %  correspondence  with 
Marion;  with  whcm  epistles  had  been  exchanged  regularly  once  • 
month.  He  dared  not  write  to  Lora — nor  even  about  her.  He  knew 
what  he  said  to  his  sister  would  be  communicated  to  his  little  mis 
tress;  and  he  feared  to  show  himself  too  solicitous.  Every  word  ia 
his  letters,  relating  to  his  cousin,  had  been  carefully  studied — as  to 
the  impression  it  might  produce— for  m  this  sort  of  strategy,  young 
love  is  as  cunning  as  that  of  older  hearts.  At  times  the  boy  courtiei 
tven  affected  indifference  about  his  cousin's  affairs ;  and  more  than 
once  there  was  danger  of  a  quarrel— or  at  least  a  coolness.  This 
was  more  especially  the  case,  when  his  sister — ^ignorant  of  the  pain 
she  was  producing — spoke  of  Lora's  great  beauty ;  and  the  havoc  it 
was  making  among  the  hearts  of  the  country  beaux 

Perhaps  had  Marion  passed  these  pretty  compliments  upon  herself, 
ihe  would  have  said  nothing  beyond  what  was  true  ;  for,  although 
Walter's  cousin  was  beautiful,  and  a  belle,  hia  aiater  was  at  that 
tlM  aoknowUdsed  <<  belle  of  the  shire  '' 


CHAPTER  TL 

For  the  first  half  mile  after  crossing  the  Colne,  the  thoughts  of  the 
joung  courtier  had  been  given  exclusively  to  his  cousin.  He  recalled 
Ihe  old  time — ^that  scene  in  the  silent  dell — ^the  kiss  among  the  wild 
lowers-  —that  proved  her  partiality  for  him.  He  remembered  all  thes* 
eoourrenoes  with  a  strong  confidence  in  Lora's  loyalty. 

His  fanciful  reflections  were  suddenly,  and  somewhat  rudely  in- 
terrupted. 

On  arriving  at  an  inn  that  stood  by  the  roadside,  a  spectacle  wa« 
presented  to  ^  sjes  which  turned  his  thoughts  into  a  different 
channel. 

In  a  wide  open  space  in  fh)nt  of  the  hostelry  wa.s  a  troop  of  horse- 
men. By  their  armor  and  equipments,  Walter  knew  them  to  hf 
wirt^aiirn,  in  ihe  service  of  the  king. 


28 

There  were  about  fifty  in  the  troop;  and  from  the  moTements  oi 
the  men,  and  the  condition  of  their  horses — still  smoking  from  the 
aiarch — it  was  evident  they  had  come  to  a  halt  only  a  few  minutea 
before. 

The  troopers  had  dismounted.  Some  of  them  were  still  occupied 
with  their  horses,  helping  them  to  provender ;  while  others,  who  had 
already  performed  this  duty,  were  seated  uncJ^r  a  huge  old  elm  tree — 
joyously,  as  well  as  noisily,  regaling  themselves  with  such  ebeer  ai 
the  hostelry  afforded. 

A  glance  at  these  roisterers  told  the  young  cavalier  who  and  what 
they  were ; — ^a  troop  of  the  returned  army  from  the  north ;  that  had 
been  lately,  and  somewhat  clandestinely,  brought  southward  by  the 
king. 

This  corps  had  originally  been  recruited  in  the  Low  Countries ;  and 
among  them  were  several  foreigners.  Indeed,  the  smaller  number 
were  Englishmen ;  while  there  were  many  countenances  of  the  true 
Gallic  type;  and  a  still  larger  proportion  of  those  famed  hirelings — 
who  figured  so  largely  in  the  wars  of  the  time — the  Walloons 

Amid  the  clamor  of  voices,  with  which  the  ears  of  the  young 
courtier  were  assailed,  he  could  hear  French  and  Flemish  commingled 
with  his  native  tongue ;  while  the  oaths  peculiar  to  all  three  nations, 
thickly  interlarding  the  conversation,  told  him  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  a  remnant  of  that  army  that  '^  swore  so  terribly  in 
Flanders." 

A  crowd  of  the  neighboring  rustics  had  collected  around  the  inn  j 
and  stood  with  mouths  agape,  and  coimtenances  expressing  unlimited 
astonishment,  at  the  sayings  and  doings  of  the  strange  steel-clad  cava- 
liers who  had  dismounted  in  their  midst. 

To  Walter  Wade,  there  was  nothing  either  new  or  surprising  In  the 
spectacle.  He  had  seer  the  like  in  London ;  and  often  oi  late.  He 
had  been  expecting  a  ?'  'i  a  sight — ^partly  from  having  heard,  ia 
passing  through  Uxbri '  £  ',  that  a  troop  of  horse  was  before  him;  and 
partly  from  having  obsi  ^  i  ed  their  tracks  along  the  dusty  road  upon 
which  he  had  been  trav  '.:  ig. 

lie  did  not  know  why  >  v  v  were  going  down  into  Buckinghamshire  ; 
but  that  was  the  king's  buciness,  not  his.  In  all  likelihood  they  were 
on  there  way  to  Oxford,  or  some  garrison  town  in  the  west ;  and 
were  making  their  night  halt  at  the  inn. 

Giving  but  a  moment's  thought  to  conjecture  any  of  these,  the  young 
•ourtier  was  about  riding  past — ^without  taking  notice  of  the  coarse 


"the  KINOl''  29 

Jests  flung  towards  him  by  the  rough  troopers  .tider  the  tree — ^whefl 
ft  voice  of  very  different  intonation,  issuing  from  the  door  of  the  hod- 
teh-y,  commanded  him  to  halt. 

Ahnost  simidtaneous  with  the  command,  two  cavaliers  stepped 
forth  out  of  the  inn ;  and  one  of  them,  having  advanced  a  few  paces 
towards  him,  repeated  the  command. 

Partly  taking  by  surprise  at  this  rude  summons — ^and  partly  be* 
lieving  it  to  proceed  from  some  old  Court  acquaintance — ^Walter  drew 
bridle,  and  stopped. 

It  was  easy  to  tell  that  the  two  men,  who  had  so  brusquely  brought 
themselves  under  his  notice,  were  the  officers  in  command  of  the  troop. 
Their  silken  doublets — only  partially  concealed  by  the  steel  armor 
— ^their  elegant  Spanish  leather  boots,  with  lace  ruffles  at  the  tops ; 
the  gold  spurs  upon  their  heels ;  the  white  ostrich  plumes  waving 
above  their  helmets  ;  and  the  richly  chased  scabbards  of  their  sworda 
— all  indicated  rank  and  authority.  This  was  further  mad©  manifest 
by  the  tone  of  command  in  which  they  had  spoken,  and  their  bear- 
ing in  presence  of  the  troopers. 

The  latter,  on  seeing  them  come  forth  from  the  house,  desisted 
from  their  jargon,  and,  though  they  continued  to  pass  their  beer  cans, 
tt  was  in  a  constrained  and  respectful  silenee. 

The  two  officers  wore  their  helmets ;  but  the  visors  of  both  wert 
open;  and  Walter  could  see  their  faces  distinctly. 

He  now  perceived  that  neither  of  them  was  known  to  him ;  though 
one  of  them  he  thought  he  had  seen  before,  a  few  days  before — only 
for  a  moment,  and  in  conference  with  the  Queen  ! 

This  was  the  older  of  the  two,  and  evidently  the  senior  in  rank— 
the  captain  of  the  troop.  He  was  a  man  of  thirty,  or  thereabouts , 
with  a  face  of  dark  complexion,  and  not  unhandsome;  but  of  a  rakish 
expression  that  drink,  and  the  indulgence  of /evil  passions,  will  im- 
print upon  the  noblest  features.  His  had  once  been  of  the  noblest — 
and  still  were  they  such  that  a  gentleman  need  not  have  been  asham- 
ed of— had  it  not  been  for  a  cast  half  cynical ,  half  sinister,  that  could 
be  detected  in  his  eyes ;  sadly  detracting  from  a  face  otherwise  well 
favored.  Altogether  H  was  a  countenance  of  that  changing  kind, 
that,  smiling,  might  captivate  the  heart ;  but,  scowling,  could  inspire 
it  with  fear. 

The  younger  nrAn — ^who  from  ^e  insignia  on  his  shoulder  was  a 
comet — ^presented  a  very  different  type  of  physiognomy.  Though  stiU 
only  a  youth,  his  countenance  was  repulsive  in  the  extremeu    Th«re 


30  "the  xmo!" 

ras  no  need  to  scan  it  closely,  to  arrive  at  this  oonclus^oii.  in  thai 
reddish  round  face,  shaded  hj  a  scant  thatch  of  straight  haj-colored 
hair,  you  beheld  at  a  glance  a  kindred  compound  of  the  stupid,  the 
Tulgar,  and  the  brutal. 

Walter  Wade  had  never  looked  on  that  countenance  before.  It  in* 
■pired  him  with  no  wish  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  its  owner. 
If  left  to  his  own  inclinations,  the  young  eourtier  would  not  have  de- 
sired ever  to  look  upon  it  again. 

"Your,  wish?  demanded  he,  rising  proudly  up  la  Itit  stirrups,  and 
60  confronting  the  officer  who  had  addressed  him.  "  You  have  sum* 
moned  me  to  stop— your  wish  ?  " 

**  No  offence,  I  hope,  young  gallant  ? ''  replied  the  cuirassier  ci^tdoi 
**  None  meant,  I  assure  you.  By  the  sweat  upon  your  horse — ^not  a 
bad-looking  brute  by-the-way.    A  good  nag.    Isn't  he,  Stubbs  ?  ** 

**  If  sound, ••  laconically  rejoined  the  comet. 

"Oh!  sound  enough,  no  doubt,  you  incorrigible  jockey!  Well, 
youngster,  as  I  was  saying,  the  sweat  upon  your  horse  proves  that 
you  have  ridden  fast  and  far.  Both  you  and  he  stand  in  need  of  re- 
freshment. We  called  to  you,  merely  to  offer  the  hospitality  of  the 
fain." 

"  Thanks  for  your  kindness,  replied  Walter,  in  a  tone  that  sufficient* 
Ij  expressed  his  true  appreciation  of  the  offer ;  "  but  I  must  decline 
availing  myself  of  it.  I  am  not  in  need  of  any  refreshment ;  and  af 
for  my  horse,  a  short  five  miles  will  bring  him  to  a  stable,  vhere  he 
will  be  well  cared  for.** 

**  Oh !  you  are  near  the  end  of  your  journey,  then  f  •• 

•*  By  riding  five  miles  further  I  shall  reach  it.** 

"A  visit  to  some  country  acquaintance,  where  you  can  enjoy  the 
balmy  atmosphere  of  the  beech  forests — ^have  new-laid  eggs  every 
morning  for  breakfast,  and  new-pulled  turnips  along  with  your  bacon 
for  dinner,  eh?  '* 

The  choler  of  the  high-bred  youth  had  been  gradually  mounting  up- 
ward, and  might  soon  have  found  vent  in  angry  words.  But  Waltei 
Wtde  was  one  of  those  happy  spirits  who  enjoy  a  joke — even  at  their 
t^wn  expense — and  perceiving  that  his  new  acquaintances  meanrt  no 
fbrther  mischief  than  the  indulgence  in  a  little  idle  badinagey  he  ro- 
pressed  his  incipient  spleen,  and  replied  in  the  same  jocular  and  sa 
tiricai  strain. 

After  a  sharp  passage  of  words — in  which  the  young  courtier  wai 
te  from  being  worsted— he  was  on  the  point  of  riding  onward;  wbei 


'"the  Kmrol"  W 

the  captain  of  the  cuirassiers  again  proffered  the  hospitality  of  the  bm 
hj  inviting  him  to  partake  of  a  cup  of  burned  sack  which  the  landlord 
had  just  brought  from  the  house. 

The  offer  was  made  with  an  air  of  studied  politeness  *  and  Walter, 
not  caring  to  appear  churlish,  accepted  it. 

He  was  about  raising  the  goblet  to  his  lips,  whea  his  entertainera 
called  for  a  toast. 

"  What  would  you  ? "  asked  the  young  courtier. 

<* Anything  my  gallant!  Whateyer  is  uppermost  in  your  mmd. 
Tour  mistress,  I  presume  ?  " 

**0f  course,"  chimed  in  the  cornet.      "His  mistress  of  course.** 

"  My  mistress,  then !  "  said  Walter,  tasting  the  wine,  and  return- 
ing the  cup  to  the  hand  from  which  he  had  received  it. 

"  Some  pretty  shepherdess  of  the  Chilterns — some  sweet  wood 
nymph,  no  doubt  ?  well  here's  to  her !    And  now,"  continued  the 
officer,  without  lowering  the  goblet  from  his  lips,  "since  I've  drunk 
to  your  mistress,  you'll  not  refuse  the  same  compliment  to  my  master 
— ^the  king.    You  won't  object  to  that  toast,  will  you  ? " 

"By  no  means," replied  Walter.    "I  drink  it   willin^y,  though 
the  king  and  I  have  not  parted  the  best  of  friends." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !  friends  with  the  king!    His  Majesty  has  the  honor 
of  your  acquaintance,  eh !  " 

"  I  have  been  nearly  three  years  in  his  sendee.** 

"A  courtier?" 

"  I  have  been  page  to  the  queen.** 

"  Indeed !  perhaps  you  will  have  no  objection  to  favor  ns  with  ymif 
name ! " 

Not  the  slightest.    My  name  is  Wade — Walter  Wad  . 

"  Son  of  Sur  Marmaduke,  of  Bulstrode  Park  ?  ** 

"lam.** 

"  Ho,  ho,**  muttered  the  questioner,  in  a  significant  tone»  and  with 
A  thoughtful  glance  at  the  young  courtier. 

"  I  thought  so,"  stammered  the  cornet,  exchanging  a  look  of  k 
telligence  with  his  superior  officer. 

"  Son  to  Sir  Marmaduke,  indeed !  '*    continued  the  latter.    "  I 
chat  case.  Master  Wade,  we  are  likely  to  meet  again,  and  perhaps  yon 
will  some  day  favor  me  with  an  introduction  to  your  sweet  shepherd 
ess.    Ha, ha,  ha!    Now  for  the  toast  of  every  true  Englishman— 
Thji  Kiko  !*  ** 

Walter  responded,  iiko^t^  withno  great  willmgness;  fi)r  tbo  tonf 


38  "the  people !** 

of  the  challenger,  as  well  as  his  words,  had  produced  a|iioii  hia  mi 
unpleasant  impression.  But  the  toast  was  one  that,  at  ths  time,  it 
was  not  safe  to  decline  drinking;  and  partly  on  this  account,  and 
partly  because  the  young  courtier  had  no  very  particular  reason  foi 
declining,  he  raised  the  goblet  once  more  to  his  Ups,  as  he  did  so  re- 
peating the  words—-"  To  thb  Kino." 

The  comet  drinking  from  a  cup  of  his  own,  echoed  the  sentiment  j 
and  the  troopers  under  the  tree,  clinking  their  beer  measures  togethoi 
vodforated  in  loud  aodaim— *'  Thb  Kutq — ^Thb  Kuro ! " 


OHAPTSR  YIL 

^TBM    PKOPUl!** 

After  this  general  declaration  of  loyalty,  there  was  a  lull— «a  la 
terval  of  profound  silence — such  as  usually  succeeds  the  drinking  al 
a  toast. 

The  silence  was  unexpectedly  broken  by  a  voice  that  had  not  yet 
mingled  in  the  chorus,  and  which  was  now  heard  in  clear  firm  tones, 
pronouncing  a  phrase  of  very  different  signification — "  Thb  Peoplb  !" 

A  sentiment  so  antagonistic  to  the  one  so  late  issuing  from  the  lips 
of  the  troopers,  produced  upon  them  an  instantaneous  commotion. 
The  soldiers,  seated  under  the  tree,  started  to  their  feet ;  while  the 
officers  faced  in  the  direction  whence  the  voice  had  come — their  eyea 
aagrily  fiashing  under  the  umbrils  of  their  helmets. 

He  who  had  so  daringly  declared  himself  was  not  concealed.  A 
horseman,  of  elegant  appearance,  had  just  ridden  up,  and  halted  in 
the  middle  of  the  road ;  where  the  landlord,  apparently  without  or- 
ders, and  as  if  accustomed  to  the  service— was  helping  him  to  a  goblet 
of  wine.    It  was  this  horseman  that  called  out — "  The  People !  ** 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  their  loyalty,  his  arrival  had  either  not 
been  observed  by  the  troopers — or  at  all  events  no  notice  had  been 
taken  of  it— until  the  emphatic  pronunciation  fell  upon  their  ears  lik« 
the  biirstmg  of  a  bomb*  Then  all  e^es  were  instantly  iiurne^  t^^ 
im^  hinj. 


SI 

As  ht  gaye  utterance  to  the  phrase,  he  was  fai  the  act  of  raising  the 
wine  cup  to  his  lips.  Without  appearing  to  notice  the  eflfect  which 
his  speech  had  produced,  he  coolly  quaffed  off  the  wine  and  with 
like  sangfroid  returned  the  empty  goblet  to  the  giver. 

The  defiant  insolence  of  the  act  had  so  taking  the  troopers  by  sxir- 
prise,  that  they  stood  in  their  places— just  as  they  had  started  up — 
silent  and  apparently  stupefied.  Even  the  officers,  after  hurrying  for- 
ward, remained  speechless  for  several  seconds — as  if  under  the  in- 
fluence of  an  angry  amazement.  The  only  sounds  for  awhile  heard 
were  the  voices  of  the  spectators — tapsters,  stable-helpers,  and  other 
Idlers — ^who  had  clustered  in  front  of  the  inn — and  who  now  formed 
an  assemblage,  as  large  as  the  troop  itself. 

Despite  the  presence  of  the  armed  representatives  of  royalty,  the 
■entiments  of  these  were  unmistakably  the  same,  as  that  to  which  the 
fltrange  horseman  had  given  voice ;  and  they  were  emphatically  com- 
plimenting themselves,  when  they  clinked  their  pewter  pots,  and  in 
chorus  proclaimed — "Thb  People  !  " 

Most  of  them,  but  the  moment  before,  and  with  equal  enthusiasm, 
had  drunk  "The  King;  *'  but  in  this  sudden  change  of  sentiment 
they  only  resembled  most  politicians  of  modern  times,  who  have 
been  dignified  with  the  name  of  "  Statesmen  !  " 

But  even  among  these  tapsters  and  stable-helpers,  there  were  some 
who  had  refrained  from  being  forced  into  a  lip  loyalty ;  and  who 
echoed  the  second  sentiment  with  a  fervent  spirit,  and  a  full  knowledge 
of  its  everlasting  antagonism  to  the  first. 

When  the  ultimate  syllable  of  this  sacred  phrase  had  died  upon  the 
ear  of  the  assembled  croud,  it  was  succeeded  by  a  silence  ominous  and 
expectant.  Two  individuals  commanded  the  attention  of  all— the 
captain  of  the  cuirassiers,  and  the  horseman  who  had  halted  upon  the 
road ;  the  toaster  of  the  "  King ; ' '  and  the  proposer  of  the  "  People ! " 

The  soldier  should  speak  first.  It  was  to  him  that  the  challenge— 
if  such  he  chose  to  consider  it — ^had  been  flung  forth. 

Had  it  been  a  rustic  who  had  uttered  it — one  of  the  assembled 
crowd— even  a  freehold  farmer  of  pnritanic  pretensions — the  cuiras- 
sier captain  would  have  answered  him  on  the  instant,  perhaps  with 
steel  added  to  the  persuasion  of  his  tongue  But  a  cavalier,  of  broad 
bands,  and  gold  spin's  buckled  over  the  Spanish  leather  boots,  astride 
a  noble  steed,  with  a  long  rapier  hanging  handy  anent  his  hip,  was 
an  individual  not  to  be  ridden  over  in  such  haste  \  and  one  whos4 
"  argument  "  gnUed  for  consideration. 


94 

**  Zounds,  sir !  '*  eried  the  captain  of  the  cuinussiers,  stepping  a  spaot 

or  two  forvrard> ''from    what  Bedlam  have  you  broken  loose? 
Methinks  you've  been  tasting  too  freely  of  the  St.  Giles's  tap;  and 
'tis  that  which  makes  your  speech  smell  so  rankly.    Come,  fellow, 
uncover  your  head,  and  tune  your  tongue  to  a  different  strain.    You 
go  not  hence  till  you've  purged  your  traitorous  throat  by  drinking  tht 
toast  of  every  true  and  loyal  gentleman  of  England — *  Thb  Kino  ! '" 
"  Fellow  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  the  cavalier,  looking  scornfully  as- 
kance at  him  who  had  dictated  the  insulting  proposition.     "  A  fel- 
low !  "  he  continued  in  a  calm  but  satirical  tone ;  '*  not  in  the  habit 
of  drinking  toasts  with  strangers.      Yours  is  not  to  his  liking,  any 
more  than  your  fashion.    If  he  h^'^  the  fancy  to  drink  to  £iigland'8 
king,  it  would  not  be  in  the  con      .7  of  those  who  have  4iigraced 
Ungland's  fame — at  the  ford  of  J       -^urn.** 

Gathering  up  his  reins  as  he  sp'  >  u  and  giving  utterance  to  a  taunt 
ing  laugh,  the  strange  horseman  \   4  ^sed  the  spur  against  the  sides  of 
his  splendid  steed ;  and  started    f  at  a  swinging  gallop  along  the 
road. 

It  was  only  when  that  laugh  r  in  his  ears  that  the  cuirassier 
captain  became  roused  to  the  full  frenzy  of  rage ;  and  with  eyes  on 
fire,  and  brow  black  as  midnight,  he  rushed  forward,  sword  in  handj 
in  a  frantic  attempt  to  strike  down  the  insulter. 

**  Disloyal  knave  !  '*  cried  he,  lunging  out  to  the  full  length  of  hia 
arm ;  **  thou  shalt  drink  the  king's  health  in  thine  own  blood  !  Ha ! 
stop  him  !  "  he  continued,  as  the  horseman  glided  beyond  his  reach 
—"My  pistols!  ** 

**  Ho,  there  !  "  shouted  he  to  his  followers.  "  Your  carabines ! 
Fire  upon  him  ?  Where  are  your  weapons,  you  careless  vagabonds  ? 
To  horse,  and  follow  !  " 

"  An'  ye  take  my  advice,  masters,**  put  in  the  landlord  of  the  inn 
—a  sturdy  tapster  of  independent  speech — "ye '11  stay  wheer  ye  are. 
An'  ye  doan't,  ye'll  be  havin*  yeer  ride  for  nothin'.  Ye  maw't  as 
well  gie  chase  to  a  wild  goose.  He'll  be  two  mile  frae  this  'fore  you 
can  git  astride  o'  your  nags.'* 
"  What,  varlet !  "  cried  the  cuirassier  captain  turning  furiously 

upon  the  speaker — "  you  presume * 

"  Only,  great  coronel,  to  gie  ye  a  bit  o'  sound  a  (vice.  Ye  ma'  folia 
ft  or  no'  an'  ye  pleeze ;  but  f  ye  folia  him  ye  woi.  't  catch  him — not 
this  night,  I  ^ow }  though  theer  6i  a  full  moon  to  light  ye  on  hit 


¥ht  t&r  of  imperturbable  coolness  with  which  the  Saxon  Bonifact 
made  rejomder,  instead  of  increasing  the  fury  of  tht  officer,  seemed 
rather  to  haye  the  effect  of  tranquilizing  him. 
"You  know  him,  then  ?  '*  demanded  he,  in  an  altered  tone 
*•  Well,  e-es  !  a  leetUsh  bit  only.  He  be  one  o'  my  customers ;  and 
have  his  drink  occasional  as  he  passes  by  here.  I  know  his  horse  >d 
tut  better,  mayhap.  That  be  a  anymal  worth  the  kppwm*.  I've 
teed  him  clear  that  geeat— it  be  six  feet  high— -moren  once.  Wee'vt 
leed  him  do  it ;  ain'  we,  lads  ?  " 

"  That  we  have.  Master  Jarvis,"  replied  several  of  the  bystanders, 
to  whom  the  appeal  had  been  made. 

"  E-ees  indeed,  great  coronel,*'  continued  the  landlord,  once  mor« 
addressing  his  speech  to  the  captain  of  the  cuirassiers ;  "  an  if  yer 
fellows  want  to  foUa  him,  they  maim  be  up  to  ridin*  cross  country 
A  bit,  or  else        " 

"  His  name !  *'  eagerly  intemipted  the  officer ;  "  you  know  where 
the  knave  lives  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly— neyther  one  nor  t'other ;"  was  the  equivocal  reply. 
•*  As  for  his  name,  we  only  know  him  'bout  here  as  the  Black  Hors^ 
man  ;  an  that  he  belongs  some'ere  among  the  hills  up  the  Jarret'i 
Heath  way — ^beyond  the  great  park  o'  Bulstrode." 
"  Oh !  he  lives  near  Bulstrode,  does  he? " 
"Somer  hot  theere,!  dar  say." 

"  I  know  where  he  lives,"  interposed  one  of  the  rustics  who  stood 
by.  "  It  be  a  queery  sort  o'  a  place — a  old  red  brick  house;  an* 
Stone  Dean  be  the  name  o't.  It  lie  in  the  middle  o'  the  woods 
'tween  Beckenfield  an'  the  two  Ghaffonts.  I  can  take  ye  theer,  mas- 
ter officer,  if  ye  be  a  wantin'  to  go." 

"Jem  Biggs !  "  said  the  landlord,  slicing  up  to  the  last  speaker, 
and  whispering  the  words  in  his  ear,  "thee  be  a  meddlin' 'ficious 
beggar.  If  thee  go  on  such  a  errand,  don't  never  agen  show  thy 
ugly  mug  in  my  taproom." 

"  Enough !  "  impatiently  exclaimed  the  officer;  "I  dare  say  we 
shall  easily  find  the  fellow.  Dismount,  men,"  continued  he,  turning 
to  some  of  the  troopers,  who  had  sprung  into  their  saddles.  "  Re- 
turn your  horses  to  their  stalls.  We  may  as  well  stay  here  for  the 
night,  he  added  in  a  whisper,  to  his  cornet ;  "  it's  no  use  going  after 
liim  till  the  morning.  As  the  old  prattler  says,  we  might  have  our 
ride  for  nothing.  Besides,  there's  that  little  appointment  in  Uxbridge. 
By  the  angel  Gabriel !  I'll  find  the  knave,  if  I  should  have  to  scoui 


ll  THB  BLAO^  HofiSEMAN. 

•rery  comet  of  the  county.  More  wine,  landlord !—  iurnt  sack  !-* 
and  beer  for  these  thirsty  vagabonds !  We'll  drink,  *  The  King '  once 
more,  with  three  times  three.  Ha !  where's  our  courtier  ?  Qon« 
too?" 

"  He's  just  ridden  off,  captain ;"  answered  one  of  the  troopers,  stiD 
seated  in  his  saddle.    "  Shall  I  gallop  after,  and  bring  him  back  ?  " 

"No,**  replied  the  officer,  after  a  moment's  consideration.  "Let 
the  stripling  go  his  way.  I  know  where  he's  to  be  found ;  and  shall 
do  myself  the  honor  of  dining  with  him  to-morrow.  The  wine ! 
Come!  fill  your  cans, you  right  royal  rascals, and  drink — ' Th$ 
King!'' 


CHAPTER    Vin. 


VSM  BLACK  HOBSBMAV. 


Desiroua  of  escaping  from  the  disagreeable  companionship— into 
irhich  ke  had  been  so  unceremoniously,  as  well  as  imwillingly,  drawn 
—the  young  courtier  had  taken  advantage  of  the  confusion,  and  trot- 
ted quietly  away. 

On  rounding  a  comer — ^beyond  which  the  road  was  not  visible  from 
the  inn — he  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  urged  the  animal  into  a  gal- 
top. 

Though  he  had  given  no  offence,  he  was  not  without  apprehension, 
that  he  might  be  followed,  and  summoned  back ;  for  the  brace  of  bul- 
lies, from  whom  he  had  just  parted,  appeared  quite  capable  of  com- 
mitting further  outrage.  He  knew  that,  in  the  name  of  the  king,  ex- 
cesses were  of  every  day  occurrence.  The  monarch's  minions  had 
become  accustomed  to  insult  the  people  with  impunity.  The  soldiers, 
in  particular,  bore  themselves  offensively — more  especially  those  hun- 
gry troopers;  who,  returning  unpaid  from  the  Northern  campaign, 
▼ere  thrown  idly  upon  the  country.  The  disgrace  they  had  fairly 
tamed  by  fleeing  before  the  Scots  from  the  ford  of  Newburn,  bad  de- 
paived  them  of  the  sympathies  of  their  3wn  countrymen :  as  a  natural 


THE  BLAOK  flOSSKMAN.  It 

iensequesje,  proToking  towardB  the  Utter  a  aort  «f  gwag^ring  and 
reckless  hostility. 

The  incident  which  had  occurred,  and  in  which  he  had  been  an  In- 
Toluntary  actor,  inspired  Walter  Wade  with  some  emotions  that  were 
new  to  him,  and,  as  he  slackened  his  pace,  after  a  sharp  canter,  he 
fell  into  a  train  of  reflections  very  different  from  those  hitherto  en- 
gaging his  thoughts. 

He  was  still  too  young  to  have  entered  into  the  politics  of  the  tima 

He  knew  that  there  was  trouble  between  the  king  and  his  people  ^ 
but  breathing  only  the  atmosphere  of  the  "  Presence,"  he  could  have 
other  behef,  than  that  the  right  was  on  the  aide  of  royalty. 

He  knew  that  the  king,  after  an  interregnum  of  eleven  years,  had 
fommoned  a  Parliament,  to  settle  the  differences  between  himself  and 
his  subjects.  He  knew  this  from  having  been  officially  present  at  iti 
opening.  He  knew,  moreover,  that  this  Parliament,  after  sitting  only 
a  few  days,  had  been  summarily  dismissed;  for  he  had  been  also  pres- 
ent at  its  prorogation. 

What  should  the  young  courtier  care  for  such  incidents  as  these— 
however  significant  they  might  be  to  the  patriot,  or  politician  f 

To  do  him  justice,  however,  Walter  Wade,  young  as  he  was,  was 
not  altogether  indifferent  to  what  was  passing.  The  spirit  of  his  an- 
cestry— ^that  love  of  liberty,  that  had  displayed  itself  at  Runnymede 
— ^was  not  absent  from  his  bosom.  It  was  there;  though  hitherto 
held  in  check  by  the  circumstances  surrounding  him.  He  had  wit- 
nessed the  punishments  of  the  pilktj— -by  summary  sentence  of  Star 
Chamber  and  High  Commission  Ooitfi;  he  had  been  present  at  fear- 
ful spectacles  of  ear-croppings  and  othel  mutilations ;  and,  although 
among  companions,  who  beheld  Such  scenes  with  indifference — or 
often  regarded  them  as  sources  of  amusement — more  than  once 
had  he  been  profoundly  affected  by  them.  Stripling  though  he  was, 
more  than  once  had  he  reflected  upon  such  royal  wrongs.  Circum- 
stances, however^  had  placed  him  among  the  ranks  of  those,  to  whom 
Ihe  smiles  of  a  tyrant  were  sweet ;  and  he  was  still  too  young  and  unro- 
iecting,  to  give  other  than  a  passing  thought  to  the  theme  of  Liberty. 

That  the  enemies  of  the  king  suffered  justly,  was  the  belief  that  was 
breathed  around  him.  He  heard  the  statement  on  all  sides;  and  from 
pretty  lips — from  the  lips  of  a  queen !  How  could  he  question  its 
truth? 

His  encounter  with  the  cuirassiers  had  produced  an  impression  upon 
him,  calculated  to  change  his  p^litUai  sentiments — almost  to  chang« 
thenu 


3S 

*•  A  scandal .  •'  muttered  ha  to  limself.  Ths4>  fhese  military  bul* 
lies  should  be  allowed  to  act  as  they  pleas*.  I  wonder  the  king  per* 
mits  it.  Perhaps  it  may  be  true  what  *  wicked  Pym  ' — as  the  queea 
calls  him — said  in  the  Parliament  House :  that  his  Majesty  encour- 
ages their  insubordination.  Ah !  if  I  had  thought  so,  I  should  have 
joined  that  brave  fellow,  who  drank  just  now  to  the  people.  By-the- 
by,  who  can  ^  be  ?  He's  gone  up  the  road — as  if  he  lived  our  way.  A 
■plendid  rider ;  and  a  horse  worthy  of  him.  I  never  saw  either  be- 
fore. If  he  be  of  Bulstrode  neighborhood;  he  must  have  come  into  it 
•ince  my  time.  Perhaps  a  traveler  only  ?  And  yet  his  horse  looked 
fresh,  as  if  he  had  just  stepped  out  of  the  stable.  He  could  not  have 
ridden  him  farther  than  from  Uxbridge  ?  " 

"  I  thought  those  fellows  were  preparing  to  pursue  him;  '*  contin- 
ued he,  glancing  back  over  his  shoulder.  "  They  must  have  given  up 
the  idea ;  else  I  should  hear  them  behind  me.  If  they  come  on,  I 
shall  slip  aside  among  the  trees,  and  let  them  pass.  I  don't  want 
any  more  converse  with  such  companions  as  Captain  Scarthe — ^that's 
what  his  comet  called  him,  I  think;  nor  yet  with  Master  Comet 
Stubbs  himself.    Stubbs  indeed !    Surely  there  must  be  something  in 


names 


?»» 


On  finishing  this  series  of  reflections,  the  young  courtier  drew  bri- 
dle ;  and  halted  for  the  purpose  of  listening. 

He  could  hear  voices  behind — at  the  inn — a  chorus  of  rough  voices 
in  loud  vociferation.  It  was  the  "hip  hurrah,"  of  the  troopers  re- 
sponding to  the  toast  of  "  th^  king.**  There  was  no  other  sound  — 
at  least  none  to  indicate  that  the  pursuit  was  being  continued. 

"Good!  they  are  not  following  him.  Prudent  on  their  part,  I 
should  say.  If  he  has  kept  on  as  he  started,  he  will  be  miles  off  by 
this." 

"There**  no  chance  of  my  overtaking  him !  "  continued  he,  once 
more  heading  his  horse  to  the  road.  "  My  faith  !  I  wish  I  could. 
Now  that  I  remember  the  circumstances,  I've  heard  there  are  rob- 
bers on  this  route.  Sister  wrote  me  about  them  not  long  since. 
They  stopped  a  lady's  coach,  and  plundered  it ;  though  they  did  no 
hurt  to  the  lady,  be}  ond  stripping  ber  of  her  jewels— even  to  the  rings 
In  her  ears !  Only  one  of  them — the  captain  I  suppose — came  near 
the  coach.  The  others  stood  by ;  but  said  not  a  word.  How  very 
funny  of  the  fellows  to  act  so !  Well,  if  it  be  my  ill  fortune  to  encoun- 
ter robbers,  I  hope  it  may  also  be  my  good-fortune  to  find  them  equal- 
j  well-mannered.    I  don't  mind  giving  t^em  all  I've  got, — ^it's  not 


much— if  they'll  only  let  me  pass  on  unmolested,  like  the  ludy.  V 
faith,  I've  been  a  fool  to  leave  London  so  late;  and  that  unlucky  adr 
venture  at  the  inn  has  made  it  later.  It*s  quite  night.  There's  a 
beautiful  moon,  to  be  sure ;  but  what  of  that,  in  this  lonely  place  ?  It 
would  only  help  to  give  light  to  the  rascals;  and  enable  them  all  tha 
more  easily  to  strip  me  of  my  trappings." 

Notwithstanding  his  apparent  indifference  to  an  encounter  with  rob^ 
bers,  which  these  reflections  might  Indicate,  the  young  traveler  wM 
not  without  some  apprehension.  At  the  time,  the  roads  of  England 
were  infested  with  highwaymen  and  footpads.  Robberies  were  inci- 
dents of  daily  occurrences-even  on  the  very  skirts  of  the  metropolis ; 
and  on  the  highways  and  byways,  the  demand  for  your  purse  waa 
almost  as  common  as  the  modern  solicitation  for  alms. 

In  general,  the  "gentlemen  of  the  road"  were  not  sanguinary  in 
their  disposition.  Some  were  even  courteous.  In  truth,  many  ol 
them  were  men,  who,  by  the  tyrannous  exactions  of  the  Sovereign, 
had  been  beggared  in  fortune ;  and  forced  to  adopt  this  illegal  mode  of 
replenishing  their  exchequers.  They  were  not  all  ruffians  by  instinct. 
Still  there  were  some  of  them,  with  whom  "  Stand  and  deliver !  ** 
meant "  Death  if  you  do  not !" 

It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  nervousness,  that  Walter  Wade 
scanned  the  long  slope  of  road  extending  towards  the  crest  of  Red 
Hill — ^at  the  bottom  of  which  he  had  now  arrived.  It  was  on  this 
very  hill — as  stated  in  the  correspondence  of  his  sister — that  tha 
coach  had  been  stopped,  and  the  lady  rifled  of  her  rings. 

The  road  running  up  the  steep  acclivity  was  of  no  great  width- 
nothing  resembling  the  broad  macadamized  "  turnpike  "  of  modem 
times.  It  was  a  mere  track,  just  wide  enough  for  wheels — ^bordered 
by  a  beechen  forest,  through  which  the  path  wound  upward;  the 
trees  standing  close  along  each  side,  and  in  some  places  forming  ar- 
cades over  it. 

The  young  traveler  once  more  reined  up  and  listened.  The  voioea 
from  the  inn  no  longer  reached  his  ear — not  even  in  distant  murmer- 
Ing.  He  would  have  preferred  hearing  them.  He  almost  wished  that 
the  pursuit  had  been  continued.  Little  as  he  might  have  relished  the 
Bompanionship  of  Captain  Scarthe,  or  cornet  Stubbs,  it  would  havt 
been  preferable  to  felling  into  that  of  a  party  of  highwaymen  or  foot- 
pads. 

He  bent  forward  to  catch  any  sound  that  might  come  from  the  road 
before  him.    Ha  could  hear  none — at  least,  none  of  a  character  to 


10 

make  him  imeasy.  The  soft  monotone  of  the  goatsucksr  fell  iipoi 
hiB  ear ;  mingled  with  the  sharper  note  of  the  partridge,  calling  hef 
young  across  the  stubble.  He  heard,  also,  the  distant  barking  of  th« 
watch-dog;  and  the  sheep-bell  tinkling  in  the  fold;  but  these  sounds, 
though  characteristic  of  tranquil  country  life — and  sweet  to  the  ear  so 
long  hindered  from  hearing  them — ^were  not  inconsistent  with  the 
presence  either  of  footpad  or  highwayman ;  who,  lurking  concealed 
among  the  trees,  need  not  interrupt  thetp  utterance. 

Walter  Wade  was  far  from  being  of  a  timid  disposition;  but  no 
youth  of  eighteen  could  be  accused  of  cowardice,  simply  because  ho 
did  not  desire  an  encounter  with  robbers. 

It  did  not,  therefore,  prove  poltroonery  on  his  part,  when,  proceed- 
ing along  the  road,  his  heart  beat  slightly  with  apprehension — ^no 
more,  when  on  perceiving  the  figure  of  a  horseman  dimly  outlined 
mider  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  he  suddenly  came  to  a  halt,  and  hesi- 
tated to  advance. 

The  horseman  was  about  a  score  of  spaces  from  where  he  hai  stop- 
ped— ^moving  neither  one  way  nor  the  other,  but  motionless  in  tht 
middle  of  the  road. 

•'  A  highwayman ! "  thought  Walter,  midecided  whether  to  advance, 
nr  to  ride  back. 

"  But  no,  it  can  scarce  be  that?  A  robber  would  not  take  stand 
io  conspicuously.  He  would  be  more  likely  to  conceal  himself  behiiid 
the  trees — at  least  until " 

While  thus  conjecturing,  a  voice  fell  upon  his  ear,  which  he  at  once 
recognized  as  the  same  he  had  late  heard  so  emphatically  pronounc- 
ing ''7^  people!'' 

Re-assured,  the  young  traveler  determined  to  advance.  A  man  o| 
Buch  mien,  as  he  who  bestrode  the  black  steed — and  actuated  by  such 
a  sentiment,  as  that  he  had  so  boldly  announced — could  scarcely  be 
a  disreputable  person — ^much  less  a  highwayman  ?  Walter  did  not 
wrong  him  by  the  suspicion. 

"If  I  mistake  not,**  said  the  stranger,  after  the  preliminary  hail, 
"you  are  the  young  gentleman  I  saw,  a  short  while  ago,  in  rather 
icurvy  company  ? ' 

"You  are  not  mistaken,  I  am." 

**  Come  on  then !  If  you  are  my  only  pursuer,  I  fancy  I  shall  in- 
cur© no  danger,  in  permitting  you  to  overtake  me  ?  Come  on  young 
sir  !  Perhaps  on  these  roads  it  may  be  safer  for  both  of  ub,  if  wo  ridt 
b  oompaaj  t  *' 


Thtli  frankly  solicited,  the  young  courtier  hesitated  nc  lougir ;  bu^ 
fricking  his  horse  with  the  spur,  rode  briskly  forward. 

Together  the  horsemen  continued  the  ascent  up  the  hill. 

Half  way  up,  the  road  swerved  towards  the  southwest.  For  • 
Bhort  distance  the  track  was  clear  of  trees,  so  that  the  moonlight  fell 
full  upon  it.  Here  the  two  travelers,  for  the  first  time,  obtained  a 
distinct  view  of  one  another. 

The  stranger — who  still  retained  his  iricognito — merely  glanced  to- 
wards his  companion ;  and  seeming  satisfied  with  a  slight  inspection, 
allowed  his  eyes  to  wander  elsewhere. 

Perhaps  during  his  halt  before  the  hostelry  he  had  made  a  more 
elaborate  examination  of  the  young  courtier. 

Walter,  on  the  other  hand,  had  at  the  inn  caught  only  a  glimpse  ol 
the  black  horseman.  Now,  though  out  of  courtesy,  looking  furtively 
and  askance,  he  proceeded  to  examine  him  more  minutely. 

The  personal  appearance  of  the  latter  was  striking  enough  to  court 
examination.  Walter  Wade  was  impressed  with  it— even  to  admi- 
ration. 

He  saw  beside  him,  not  a  youth  like  himself,  but  a  man  in  the  full 
prim©  and  vigor  of  manhood — ^perhaps  over  thirty  years  of  age.  He 
saw  a  figure  of  medium  size,  and  perfect  shape — its  members  knitted 
together,  with  a  terseness  that  indicated  true  strength.  He  saw  shoul- 
ders of  elegant  tov/mure;  a  breast  of  swelling  prominence ;  a  full  round 
throat,  with  jaws  that  by  their  breadth  proclaimed  firmness  and  de- 
cision. He  saw  dark  brown  hair  curhng  around  a  countenance,  that 
in  youth  might  have  appeared  under  a  fairer  complexion ;  but  was  now 
bronzed,  as  if  stained  with  the  tan  of  travel.  He  saw  eyes  of  dark  ha- 
zel hue — ^in  the  moonlight  shining  softly,  and  mildly,  as  those  of  the 
dove.  But  Walter  knew  that  those  same  eyes  could  flash  like  an 
eagle's ;  for  he  had  seen  them  so  fired,  on  first  beholding  them. 

In  short,  the  young  courtier  saw  by  his  side,  a  man  that  reminded 
him  of  a  hero  of  Middle  Age  romance— one,  about  whom  he  had  been 
lately  reading;  and  whose  character  had  made  a  deep  impression 
npon  his  youthful  fancy. 

The  dress  of  the  cavalier  was  in  perfect  keeping  with  his  fine  figur* 
and  face.  It  was  simple,  although  of  costly  material.  Cloak,  doub- 
let, and  trunks  were  silk  velvet,  of  dark  maroon  color.  The  boots 
we? e  of  the  finest  Spanish  leather ;  and  his  hat,  a  beaver — the  brim  in 
front  coquettishly  turned  up,  with  a  jeweled  clasp,  holding  a  black 
iftrieh  fidather  that  swept  backward  to  his  shoulder.    A  scarlet  sasl^ 


of  China  crape,  looped  around  the  waist — an  embroi(idred  ihcalde? 
belt  crossing  the  breast,  from  whi^h  dangled  a  rapier  in  richly  chas- 
ed sheath ;  buff-colored  gloves,  with  gauntlets  attached,  cuffs  of  whitt 
lawn  covering  the  sleeves  of  his  dciblet ;  and  broad  collar  of  the  samei 
extending  almost  to  his  shoulders :  fancy  all  these  articles  of  costly 
fabric,  fitted  to  the  fashion  of  the  time  to  a  faultless  manly  figure, 
and  you  have  a  portrait  of  the  cavalier  whose  appearance  had  won 
the  adouration  of  Walter  Wade. 

The  korse  was  in  keeping  with  the  rider — a  steed  of  large  size,  and 
perfect  proportions — such  as  an  ancient  paladin  might  have  chosen  to 
carry  him  upon  a  crusade.  He  was  of  the  true  color — a  pure  blacky 
all  except  his  muzzle,  where  the  velvet-like  epidermis  was  tinged  with 
yellowish  red,  presenting  the  hue  of  umber.  Had  his  tail  been  suffered 
to  droop,  its  tip  would  have  touched  the  ground ;  but  even  while  going 
at  a  walk  it  swung  diagonally  outward,  oscillating  at  each  step.  When 
in  the  gallop,  it  floated  upon  the  air,  spread,  and  horizontal. 

The  spotted  skin  of  a  South  American  jaguar,  with  housings  of  scar- 
let cloth,  caparisoned  the  saddle;  over  the  pommel  of  which  hung  a 
pair  of  holsters,  screened  by  the  thick  glossy  fur  of  the  North  Ameri- 
can beaver. 

The  bit  was  a  powerful  mameluke — about  that  time  introduced  from 
the  Spanish  peninsula^-which  clanking  between  the  teeth  of  the  horse^ 
constantly  kept  his  mouth  in  a  state  of  foam. 

This  beautiful  steed  had  a  name.  Walter  had  heard  it  pronounced. 
As  the  young  courtier  road  up,  the  horse  was  standing — ^his  muzzle 
almost  in  contract  with  the  road —  and  pawing  the  dust  with  impa- 
tience. The  short  gallop  had  roused  his  fiery  spirit.  To  tranquil- 
ize  it,  its  rider  was  caressing  him — as  he  drew  his  gloved  hand  over 
the  smooth  skin  of  the  neck,  talking  to  him,  as  if  he  had  been  a  corn- 
fade,  and  repeating  his  name.     It  was  "  Hubert." 

After  exchanging  salutations,  the  two  horsemen  rode  side  by  side 
for  some  moments,  without  vouchsafing  further  speech.  It  was  the 
silence  consequent  upon  such  an  informal  introduction.  The  rider 
of  the  black  steed  was  the  first  to  break  it. 

"You  are  Walter  Wade — son  to  Sir  Marmaduke,  of  Bulstrodi 
Park  ?  **  said  he,  less  by  way  of  interrogative  than  as  a  means  of  com- 
liiencing  the  conversation. 

"I  am,*'  wiswered  the  young  courtier,  showing  lome  surprise 
•*How  leamt  you  my  name,  sir?" 

**  From  your  own  lipft.'* 


THB  BLAOK  HOBSSMAV*  48 

•From  my  own  lips !  When,  may  I  ask ?  '*  inquired  Walter,  with 
A  fresh  scrutiny  of  the  stranger's  countenance.  "I  don't  remember 
haying  had  the  honor  of  meeting  you  before." 

"  Only  within  the  last  half-hour.  You  forget,  young  sir,  haying  giy* 
•nyour  name  in  my  hearing?  " 

"  Oh  true ! — ^you  overheard,  then — ^you  were  present ?  '* 

**I  rode  up  just  as  you  were  declaring  your  identity.  The  son  of 
Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  has  no  need  to  conceal  his  name.  It  is  ont  i# 
b«  proud  of." 

"  In  my  father's  name,  I  thank  you.    You  know  him,  sir  ?  " 

**  Only  by  sight  and — reputation,"  answered  the  stranger,  musing- 
ly. "  You  are  in  tha  serrice  of  the  court  ?  "  he  continued,  after  « 
pause. 

"  No  longer  now.    I  took  leave  of  it  this  very  morning." 

«  Resigned?" 

••  It  was  my  father's  wish  I  should  return  home." 

**  Indeed  !  And  for  what  reason  ?  Pardon  my  freedom  In  asking 
the  question." 

"  Oh !  "  replied  the  young  courtier,  with  an  air  otnaw^e, "  I  should 
make  you  free  to  the  reason,  if  I  only  knew  it  myself.  But  in  truth, 
sir,  I  am  ignorant  of  it.  I  only  know  that  my  father  has  written  to 
the  king,  asking  permission  for  me  to  return  home ;  that  the  king 
has  granted  it — ^though,  I  have  reason  to  think,  with  an  ill  grace ; 
since  his  Majesty  appeared  angry  with  me  at  parting,  or,  perhaps,  I 
should  say,  angry  with  my  father." 

The  intelligence  thus  communicated  by  the  ci-devant  eourtier,  in- 
stead of  eliciting  any  expression  of  regret  from  his  companion,  seemed 
rather  to  gratify  him. 

"  So  fiir  good !  "  muttered  he  to  himself.  "  Safe  upon  our  side. 
This  will  seciwe  him." 

Walter  partially  overheard  the  soliloquized  phrases,  but  without 
comprehending  their  import. 

"Your  father,"  continued  the  stranger,  "is  likely  to  have  a  good 
reasons  for  what  he  has  done.  No  doubt,  Master  Walter,  he  has 
acted  for  your  best  interests ;  though  it  may  be  rather  unpleasant  for 
you  to  exchange  the  gay  pleasures  of  a  royal  palace  for  a  quieted  life 
hi  the  country." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  replied  the  youth,  "it  is  just  what  I  was  de- 
•hring.  I  am  fond  of  hawking  and  hunting^  not  in  the  grand  ceremo- 
4uduon  w^'t*  been  accustomed  to  at  Court — ynth  a  crowd  o| 


44  THE  BLACK   HOBSEhlAN. 

squalling  women  to  fright  away  the  game — ^but  by  myself  on  thi 
quiet,  among  the  hills  here,  or  with  a  friend  or  two  to  take  part 
That's  the  sport  for  me  !'* 

"  Indeed !  *'  said  the  strange  horseman,  gmiling  m  he  spoke ; "  thest 
•re  heterodox  sentiments  for  a  courtier.  It'i  rather  odd  to  hear  on« 
of  your  calling  speak  disparagingly  of  the  sex;  and  especially  th« 
ladies  of  the  Court.  The  maids  of  honor  are  yery  interesting,  ar« 
they  not  f  I  have  understood  that  our  French  queen  affects  being 
surrounded  by  beauties.  She  has  a  long  train  of  them,  it  is  said  ?" 
"Painted  dolls  !"  scornfully  rejoined  the  ex-courtier,  "tricked  in 
French  fashions.  Give  me  a  genuine  English  girl— above  all,  one 
who  keeps  to  the  country  and's  got  some  color.  And  some  con- 
science besides ;  for,  by  my  troth,  sir,  there's  not  much  about  th« 
Court — except  what 's  artificial ! '  * 

"Bravo  V  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "  a  Court  satirist,  rather  than 
a  courtier.  Well !  I  am  glad  to  hear  my  sentiments  so  eloquently 
expressed.  Give  me  also  the  genuine  English  girl,  who  breathes  onlj 
the  pure  air  of  the  country !" 

"  That's  the  style  for  me  I"  echoed  Walter,  in  the  warmth  of  youth- 
All  enthusiasm. 

"  Well !  there  are  many  such  to  be  met  with  among  these  Chiltem 
Hills.  No  doubt,  Master  Wade,  you  know  some ;  and,  perhaps,  you 
have  one  in  particular  before  your  mind's  eye  at  this  very  moment  ? 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

The  color  came  to  Walter's  cheeks  ae  he  stammered  out  a  reply> 
which  only  partially  repudiated  the  insinuation. 

"  Your  pardon !"  cried  the  cavalier,  suddenly  checking  his  laugh- 
ter. "  I  don't  wish  to  confess  you — I  have  no  right  to  do  so— I  have 
given  you  reason  to  think  me  unmannerly.*' 

" Oh !  not  at  all,"  said  Walter;  himself  too  free  of  speech  to  bt 
offended  by  that  quality  in  another. 

"Perhaps  you  will  excuse  the  curiosity  of  a  stranger,"  continued 
the  black  horseman.  "  I  have  only  been  a  short  time  resident  in  this 
part  of  the  country ;  and  one  is  naturally  curious  to  know  something  of 
one's  neighbors.  If  you  promise  not  to  be  angry,  I  shall  make  bold 
to  ask  you  another  question." 

"  I  shall  not  be  offended  at  any  question  one  gentleman  my  ask  of 
anc^ther.    You  are  a  gentleman,  sir  ?" 

"  I  have  been  brought  up  as  one ;  and,  though  I  have  parted  with, 
ffc  ri^tbar  Jbccu^  deprived  of  the  fortune  that  attaches  to  such  a  title«  I 


THE  BLACK   HOKSEMAK  U 

hope  I  have  not  forfeited  the  character.  The  question  I  am  abc  at  tt 
put  may  appear  rather  trivial  after  so  elaborate  an  introduction.  I 
merely  wished  to  ask,  whether  you  are  the  only  member  of  yoitf 
fiither's  family." 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  V^  frankly  responded  the  youth;  "  I  haye  a  sister- 
lister  Marion.'* 

"  Grown  up,  like  yourself?'* 

"  She  should  be  by  this.    She  wasn't  quite  grown  when  I  saw  hef 
last ;  but  that  will  be  three  years  come  Christmas.    She's  older  than 
I;  and,  i'faith,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  be  taller  too.      I've  heard 
say  she's  a  great  big  girl — ^nearly  the  head  taller  than  Lora." 
^  "Lora?" 

"Lora  Lovelaco— my  cousin,  sir." 

"  *Tis  his  sister — 'tis  Marion.  I  thought  as  much.  Marion  Wade ! 
A  noble  name.  It  has  a  bold  clarion  sound — in  keeping  with  the 
character  of  her  who  bears  it.  Marion  !  Now  know  I  the  name  of 
her  who  for  weeks  I  have  been  worshiping ! — who  for  weeks — —" 

"My  cousin,"  continued  the  candid  young  courtier,  interrupting 
the  silent  reflections  of  his  traveling  companion,  "is  also  a  member 
of  my  father's  family.  She  has  been  staying  at  Bulstrode  Park  now 
for  many  years ;  and  will  remain,  I  suppose,  until " 

The  heir  of  Bulstrode  hesitated — as  if  not  very  certain  of  the  time  at 
which  the  stay  of  his  cousin  was  to  terminate. 

"Until,"  interrogated  the  cavalier,  with  a  significant  smile,  "until 
when?" 

"Really,  sir,"  said  Walter,  speaking  rather  confusedly,  "  I  can't 
say  how  long  our  cousin  may  choose  to  remain  with  us.  When  she 
comes  to  be  of  age,  I  dare  say  her  guardian  will  claim  her.  Papa  is 
ftot  her  guardian." 

"Ah !  Master  Walter  Wade,  I'd  lay  a  wager,  that  before  Mistress 
Lora  Lovelace  be  of  age,  she'll  choose  her  own  guardian — one  who 
will  not  object  to  her  staying  at  Bulstrode  for  the  remainder  of  her 
life.    IIa!ha!ha!" 

Instead  of  feeling  indignant,  the  cousin  of  Lora  Lovelace  joined  in 
the  laugh.  There  was  something  in  the  insinuation  that  soothed  and 
Ratified  him. 

Conversing  in  this  jocular  vein,  the  two  travelers  reached  the  sum- 
mit of  the  sloping  declivity ;  and  c(>ntinuing  onward,  mtered  upon  a 
Ifild  tr%ct  of  country  known  as  Jarret'a  Neath, 


^  **  iTAKD  AND  DBLIVEB  I  '* 

CHAFnCRUL 

^•fAVD  AVB  Diunn !  *' 

Jarret*8  Hefrt%~-iiow  Gerrard's  Cross  Common—iras,  tt  tin 
lime  of  which  we  write,  a  tract  of  considerable  extent --occaj/ing 
an  elevated  plateau  of  the  Chiltern  Hills,  and  one  of  the  largest. 
Commencing  at  the  brow  of  Red  Hill,  it  extended  westward  for  a 
distanoe  of  many  miles — flanked  right  and  left  by  the  romantic  val- 
leys of  Chalfont  and  Fulmere. 

At  that  time  only  the  adjoining  valleys  showed  signs  of  habitation^ 
In  the  former  stood  the  noble  mansion  of  Chalfont  House,  with  its 
synonymous  village ;  while  on  the  other  side,  quaintly  embowered 
amid  ancient  trees,  was  the  manorial  residence  of  Fulmere.  About 
two  miles  further  to  the  westward,  where  the  plateau  is  broken  by  a 
series  of  rounded  undulations,  stood  the  magnificent  mansion  of  Tem- 
ple Bulstrode,  the  residence  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade. 

The  elevated  plain,  lying  between  the  above-named  lordships,  bore 
scarce  a  trace  of  human  occupancy.  Its  name,  Jarret's  Heath,  would 
indicate  the  condition  of  its  culture.  It  was  a  waste — upon  which 
the  plough  had  never  broken  ground — thickly  covered  with  high 
gorse  and  heather.  Here  and  there  appeared  straggling  groves  and 
copses,  composed  chiefly  of  black  and  white  birch  trees,  interspersed 
with  juniper  and  holly;;  while  on  each  side  towards  the  valleys,  it 
was  flanked  by  a  dense  forest  of  the  indigenous  beech. 

Lengthwise  through  this  waste  trended  the  King's  highway — ^th« 
London  and  Oxford  road — beyond  it  impinging  upon  the  Park  of 
Bulstrode,  and  running  alongside  the  latter  towards  the  town  of  Bea- 
consfield. 

In  the  traverse  of  Jarret's  Heath  the  main  road  was  intersected) 
by  two  others — one  passing  from  the  manor  house  of  Fulmere  to  the 
village  of  Chalfont  St.  Peter's;  the  other  forming  the  communicatiois 
between  Chalfont  and  the  country  towards  Stoke  and  Windsor. 
These  were  but  bridle,  or  packhorse  path»,  tracked  out  irregularly 
among  the  trees,  and  meandering  through  the  gorse  wherever  it  grew 
thinnest.  That  running  from  Stoke  to  Chalfont  was  the  ra  *st  fre- 
fuented;  and  iKn  old  i^n-^the  PocMora^^— 8tandin|  upoQ  tbo  Chal 


41 

font  side  of  the  waste,  betokened  traffic  and  trarel.    There  was  not 
much  of  either;  and  the  hostelry  bore  only  a  questionable  character. 

Such  as  it  was,  however,  it  wa©  the  only  sign  of  habitation  upon 
Jarret's  Heath — ^if  we  except  the  remains  of  a  rude  hovel,  staning 
by  the  side  of  the  London  Road,  just  at  the  point  where,  going  west- 
ward from  Red  Hill,  it  debouched  upon  the  waste. 

This  hovel  had  been  long  untenanted.  Part  of  the  roof  had  fallen 
In ;  it  was  a  ruin.  An  open  space  in  front,  through  which  ran  the 
road,  might  once  have  been  a  garden ;  but  it  was  now  overgrown 
with  gorse,  and  other  indigenous  shrubbery — only  distinguishable 
from  the  surrounding  thicket  by  its  scantier  growth. 

It  was  a  singular  spot  to  have  been  selected  as  a  residence !  since 
k  stood  more  than  a  mile  from  any  other  habitation — the  nearest  be- 
ing the  suspected  hostelry  of  the  Packhorse.  Perhaps  it  was  this 
very  remoteness  from  companionship  that  had  influenced  its  original 
owner  in  the  choice  of  a  site  for  his  dwelling. 

Whether  or  no,  it  had  been  at  best  but  a  miserable  tenement. 
Even  with  smoke  issuing  out  of  its  clay  chimney,  it  would  have  look- 
ed cheerless.  But  in  ruins,  with  its  roof  falling  piecemeal  upon  the 
floor,  tall  weeds  standing  close  by  its  walls,  gorse  overgrowing  ita 
garden,  and  black  birches  clustering  thickly  around,  it  presented  an 
aspect  of  wild  and  gloomy  desolation;  the  very  spot  where  one  might 
expect  to  be  robbed,  or  even  murdered. 

Conversing,  as  we  have  described  them,  the  two  travelers  had  arrir- 
ed  near  the  edge  of  the  opeming  in  which  stood  this  ruined  hut.  Th« 
moon  was  still  shining  brightly ;  and  through  the  break  in  the  brush' 
wood,  formed  oy  the  clear  causeway  of  the  road,  they  could  distin- 
guish— though  still  at  the  distance  of  a  mile  or  more — the  tops  of  t^o 
magniflcent  trees,  oaks,  elms,  and  chestnuts,  that  crowned  the  undu- 
lating ridges  of  Bulstrode  Park.  They  could  even  see  a  portion  of 
the  noble  mansion  of  Norman  architecture,  gleaming  red  and  white, 
under  the  silvery  sheen  of  the  moonlight. 

In  ten  minutes  more  Walter  Wade  would  be  at  home. 

It  was  a  pleasant  anticipation  for  the  young  courtier  to  indulge  in. 
Home  so  near,  after  such  a  long  protracted  absence — ^home,  that 
promised  the  sweet  interchange  of  natural  affection,  and — something 
more. 

The  cavalier — ^whose  journey  extended  farther  up  the  road — ^wai 
about  congratulating  his  companion  on  the  delightM  prospect,  when 
#  rustling  noise,  heard  to  the  right  of  the  pth,  suddenly  stopped 


48  "  STAND  AND  DELIVER  !  ^ 

their  cocrersation.    At  the  same  instant  a  harsh  voice  sounded  la 
Ihfiir  ears,  pronouncing  the  significant  summons : — 

"  Stand  and  Dblivba  !  *• 

The  tW9  travelers  had  akeady  ridden  into  open  ground.  In  front 
of  the  ruined  hut,  out  of  which  the  voice  appeared  to  proceed.  But 
they  had  no  time  to  speculate  ea  to  whence  it  came ;  for  on  the  in* 
fitant  of  its  utterance,  a  man  was  seen  rushing  forward  into  the  mid* 
die  of  the  road,  and  placing  himself  in  a  position  to  intercept  theit 
advance. 

His  threatening  attitude,  combined  with  the  mode  in  which  In 
manipulated  a  long-handled  pike — the  point  of  which  he  held  close 
to  the  heads  of  their  horses — left  no  doubt  upon  the  minds  of  the 
travelers,  that  to  stop  them  was  his  determination. 

Before  either  could  make  reply  to  his  challenge  itwas  re-pronounc- 
ed in  the  same  loud  tone;  and  with  a  fresh  gesture  of  menace — ^in 
which  the  pike  played  an  important  part. 

"  Stand  and  deliver  !  "  interrogated  the  cavalier,  slowly  repeating 
the  stereotyped  phrase.  "  That's  your  wish,  is  it,  my  worthy 
feUow  ?  " 

"It  is !  **  growled  the  challenger,  "an*  be  quickish,  if  yeVe  anj 
oonsam  for  yer  skins." 

"Well,'*  continued  the  cavalier,  preserving  the  most  perfect  sang 
froid,  "  you  can't  say  but  what  we've  been  quick  enough  in  obe3ring 
your  first  command?  You  see  we  have  both  come  to  a  stand  instan- 
terl  Aa  for  your  second,  it  requires  consideration.  Before  deliver- 
ing, we  must  know  the  why  and  wherefore — above  all,  to  whom  we 
are  to  unburthen  ourselves.  You  won't  object  to  oblige  us  with  your 
name — as  also  your  reason  of  making  such  a  modest  request  ?  " 

"Curse  yer  palaver!"  vociferated  the  man, with  an  impntient 
flourish  of  the  pike.  "There  be  no  names  gi'en  on  the  road,  nor 
reasons  neyther.  Yer  money,  or  yer  blood !  It  be  no  use  yer  tryin* 
to  get  out  o' it.  Look  thear!  Ye  see  there  be  a  dozen  o'  as! 
What's  the  good  o'  resistin '  ?    Ye're  surrounded." 

And  as  he  said  this,  the  robber  with  a  sweep  of  his  formidable 
weapon  indicated  the  circle  of  shrubbery — near  the  centre  of  which 
the  scene  was  being  enacted. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  travelers  involuntarily  followed  the  pomting 
of  the  pike. 
Sure' enough  they  toer«  surrounded     Six  or  seven  fierce-looking 
all  apparently  armed  with  the  same  sort  of  weapon  as  that  ii 


"stand  AJSTD  DELI7Kr1"  4i 

the  hands  of  their  leader,  stood  at  equal  distaices  from  each  other 
around  the  opening — their  forms  half  concealed  by  the  trees  and 
gorso.  Thty  were  all  standing  perfectly  motionless.  Not  even  their 
weapons  seemed  to  stir;  and  not  one  of  them  had  as  yet  spoken,  or 
stepped  forward;  though  it  might  have  been  expected  they  would 
have  done  so — ^If  only  to  strengthen  the  demand  made  by  their 
spokesman. 

"  Keep  yer  places,  comrades !  "  commanded  the  latter.  "  There's 
no  need  for  any  o*  ye  to  stir.  These  are  civilish  gentlemen.  Ws 
don't  want  to  hurt  them.    They  bean't  agoin  to  resist." 

"  But  they  6^,"  interrupted  the  cavalier,  in  a  mocking  but  determin- 
ed tone;  at  the  same  time  whipping  a  pistol  from  its  holster — "/•»», 
to  the  death;  and  so  too  will  the  gallant  youth  by  my  side.** 
Walter  had  drawn  his  rapier — the  only  weapon  he  possessed. 
"What!  yield  to  a  pack  of  cowardly  footpads?"  continued  tht 

cavalier,  cocking  his  pistol,  as  he  spoke.    **No — sooner ** 

"Yer  blood  be  on  yer  own  head  then !  **  shouted  the  robber,  at  the 
same  time  rushing  forward,  and  extending  his  pike,  so  that  its  steel 
pomt  was  almost  in  contact  with  the  counter  of  the  cavalier's  horse 
The  moonlight  shone  full  upon  the  footpad,  showiog  a  face  of  fierce 
aspect — ^features  of  wild  expression — ^black  beard  and  whiskers — a 
tliick  shock  of  dark  hair  matted  and  tangled — eyes  bloodshot,  and 
gleaming  with  a  lurid  light ! 

It  was  fortunate  for  their  owner,  that  the  moonlight  favored  the 
identification  of  those  fear-inspiring  features — else  that  moment 
laight  have  been  his  last. 

The  cavalier  had  leveled  his  cocked  pistol.  His  finger  was  upon 
the  trigger.  In  another  second  the  shot  would  have  been  discharged; 
•iid  in  all  likelihood  his  assailant  would  have  been  lying  lifeless  at 
the  feet  of  his  horse. 

All  at  once  the  outstretched  arm  was  seen  to  drop,  while  at  tht 
Kune  instant  from  the  horseman's  lips  issued  an  dxclamation  of  sin* 
gular  import. 

"  Gregory  Garth !  **  cried  he,  "  you  a  highwayman — a  robber  ? 

About  to  rob— to  murder " 

"  My  old  master  ! "  gasped  out  the  man,  suddenly  lowering  the 
point  of  his  pike.  "  Be  it  ye  ?  Pardon  .  0  pardon.  Sir  Henry  !  I 
didn't  know  '  twar  ye.** 

And  as  the  speaker  gave  utterance  to  the  last  words,  he  dashed  hii 
weapon  to  the  ^ound ;  and  stood  over  it  in  |k  cowering;  and  oontriti 

S 


10  ^^  STAND  AND   DELIYSK  1 " 

ftttidude-~not  daring  to  raise  his  eyes  to  the  faoo  of  him  who  Hal 

brought  the  affair  to  such  an  unexpected  ending. 

"  0,  Master  Henry ! "  he  again  cried,  "  will  ye  forgie'  me  ?  Bnitt 
as  I  ar\  'twould  ha'  broke  me  heart  to  a  hurted  a  hair  o'  yer  head 
Curse  the  crooked  luck  that's  brought  me  to  this  !  " 

For  some  moments  there  was  a  profound  silence — unbroken  by 
ttny  Yoice.  Even  the  companions  of  the  robber  appeared  to  respect 
the  situation  ;  since  not  one  of  them  moved  or  made  remark  of  any 
kind! 

Their  humiliated  chief  was  himself  the  first  to  put  a  period  to  thia 
interral  of  embarrassment. 

**  0,  Master  Henry ! "  he  exclaimed,  apparently  in  a  paroxysm  of 
chagrin.  "  Shoot  me !  Kill  me  if  ye  like  !  Arter  what's  passed, 
I  doant  desarye  no  better  than  to  die.  There's  me  breast !  Send 
yer  bullet  through  it;  an'  put  an'  end  to  the  miserable  life  of 
Greg'ry  Garth ! " 

While  speaking,  the  footpad  pulled  open  the  flap  of  his  doublet- 
laying  bare  before  the  moonlight  a  broad  sinewy  breast,  thickly  oot- 
tred  with  coarse  black  hair. 

Advancing  close  to  the  cavalier's  horse  he  presented  his  bosom,  thus 
exposed — as  if  to  tempt  the  death  he  had  so  strangely  aolicitod. 
His  words,  his  looks,  his  whole  attitude,  proclaimed  him  to  b«  in 
earnest. 

''  Come,  come.  Garth ! "  said  the  cavalier,  in  %  soothing  tone — at 
the  same  time  returning  the  pistol  to  its  holster. 

''  You're  too  good  a  man — at  least  you  xoers  ones — ^to  be  shot 
down  in  that  off-hand  fashion." 

"Ah,  OTice  Master  Henry.  Maybe  that's  tnie  enough.  But  now 
I  desarye  it."  "- 

"  Spare  your  self-recrimination,  Gregory.  Your  life  like  my  own, 
has  been  a  hard  one.  I  know  it ;  and  can  therefore  look  more  leni- 
ently ou  what  has  happened  now.  Let  us  be  thankful  it's  no  worse} 
and  hope  it  will  be  the  means  of  bringing  about  a  change  for  the 
better." 

**  It  will.  Master  Henry ;  h  will ;  I  promise  that." 

**  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so ;  and  doubt  not  but  that  you'll  keep 
jrour  word.    Meanwhile  givs  orders  to  yo«r  trusty  ibllowers—by^ 
the-way  a  waU-bthaved  band — ^not  to  molest  us.    To-morrow  mc  . 
ing  there  will  be  travelers  along  this  way,  upon  wtom  I  have  no' 
slight^t  objection  that  both  you  and  yours  should  pracliss  to» 


"STAUD  Am)  t)EL17EBl" 

tiiliar  fctocation;  and  to  your  hearts' content.    Please  iesire  tlxos 
gentlemen  to  keep  their  distance.    I  don't  wish  them  to  make  any 
nearer  approach — lest  I  might  have  the  misfortune  to  find  in  their 
ranks  some  other  old  acquaintance,  who  like  yourself  has  fallen  from 
the  paths  of  virtue.** 

As  the  footpad  stood  listening  to  the  request,  a  singular  ezpressioff 
was  observed  to  steal  over  his  fierce  features — which  gradually  gath 
•red  into  a  broad  comical  grin. 

"  Ah !  Master  Henry,**  he  rejoined.  "  I  may  order  'em  to  obieegt 
ye,  but  they  woant  obey.  Yer  needn't  be  afeerd  o'  *em  for  all  that. 
Te  may  go  as  near  *em  as  ye  like — they  ain't  a  going*  to  molest  ye 
Ye  may  run  yer  sword  through  an'  through  *em,  an*  never  a  one  o' 
'em's  goin'  to  cry  out  he  be  hurt.'* 

**  Well,  they  seem  patient  fellows  in  all  sincerity.  But  enon^-i- 
what  do  you  mean,  Gregory  ?** 

"  That  they  be  nobodies,  Master  Henry — ^reg'lar  nobodies.  They 
be  only  dummies — ^a  lot  'o  old  coats  and  hats,  that*s  no  doubt  done 
good  sarvice  to  their  wearers  'fore  they  fell  into  the  hands  o'  Grego- 
ry Garth — aye,  an'  they  ha'  done  some  good  sarvice  since — o'  • 
different  kind,  as  ye  see." 

"So  these  fellows  are  scare-crows ?    I  had  my  suspicions." 

"  Nothing  more  nor  less,  master.  Harmless  as  I  once  war  meself ; 
but  since  that  time — ^ye  know — ^when  the  old  hall  war  taken  from  ye, 
an*  ye  went  abroad — since  then  I*ve  been ** 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  your  history.  Garth,**  said  his  former  mas- 
ter, interrupting  him,**  at  least  not  since  then.  Let  the  past  be  of 
the  past,  if  you  vrill  only  promise  me  to  forsake  your  present  profes- 
sion for  the  future.    Sooner  or  later  it  will  bring  you  to  the  block. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do?  **  inquired  the  footpad,  in  a  tone  of  hum- 
ble expostulation. 

"Do?  Anything  but  what  you  have  been  doing.  Get  work- 
honest  work.** 

"  As  I  live,  I*ve  tried  wi*  all  my  might.  Ah !  Sir  Henry,  ye've 
been  away  from  the  country  a  tidyish  time.  Ye  don't  know  how 
things  be  now.  To  be  honest  be  to  starve.  Honesty  ain't  no  longer 
o'  any  account  in  England.'* 

"  Some  day,"  said  the  cavalier,  as  he  sat  reflecting  in  hit  saddle 
<<Some  day  it  may  be  more  valued — and  that  day  not  distant 
Gregory  Garth ! "  he  continued,  making  appeal  to  the  footpad  in  • 
more  serious  and  earnest  tone  of  voice,  "  You  have  a  bold  heart  ane 


5S  *'  STANt)  Alrt)  DELlVKB !  ^ 

a  strong  arm.    I  know  it.    I  haye  no  doubt,  too,  thftt  despite  th 
outlawed  life  you've  been  leading,  your  sympathies  are  still  on  thi 
right  side.    They  have  reason;  for  you,  too,  have  suffered  in  youi 
way.    You  know  what  I  mean  ? " 

"  I  do.  Sir  Henry,  I  do,"  eagerly  answered  the  man.  "  Ye're  right 
Brute  as  I  may  be,  an'  robber  as  I  ha'  been,  I  ha'  me  inclinin'  in  that 
•«re.    Ah !  it's  it  that  made  me  what  I  be !" 

**  Hear  me  then,"  said  the  cavalier,  bending  down  in  his  saddle, 
tnd  speaking  still  more  confidentially.  "  The  time  is  not  distant — 
perhaps  nearer  than  most  people  think — when  a  stout  heart  and  a 
strong  arm — such  as  yours.  Garth— may  be  usefully  employed  in  a 
better  occupation,  than  that  you've  been  following." 

"  D'ye  say  so.  Sir  Henry  ? " 

**  I  do.  So  take  my  advice.  Disband  these  trusty  followers  of 
yours — whose  staunchness  ought  to  recommend  them  for  better  ser- 
vice. Make  the  best  market  you  can  of  their  cast-off  wardrobes. 
Retire  for  a  time  into  private  life ;  and  wait  till  you  hear  shouted 
those  sacred  words — 

"  God  and  thh  peoplb  !  •* 

"Bless  ye.  Sir  Henry ! "  cried  the  robber,  rushing  up;  and,  with  » 
■how  of  rude  affection,  clutching  the  hand  of  his  former  master.  "I 
hed  heard  o'  yer  comin*  to  live  at  the  old  house  i'  the  forest  up 
thear;  but  I  didn't  expect  to  meet  ye  i'  this  way.  Ye'll  let  me  come 
an'  see  ye.  I  promise  ye  that  ye'll  never  meet  me  as  a  robber  agin. 
This  night  Oreg'ry  Garth  takes  his  leave  of  the  road.** 

"  A  good  resolve  I "  rejoined  the  cavalier,  warmly  returning  the 
pressure  of  the  outlaw's  hand.  "  I'm  glad  you  have  made  it.  Good- 
night, Gregory ! "  he  continued,  moving  onward  along  the  road. 
"  Come  and  see  me,  whenever  you  please.  Good-night,  gentlemen  ? " 
and  at  the  words  he  lifted  the  plumed  beaver  from  his  head ;  and,  in 
a  style  of  mock  courtesy,  waved  the  dummies  an  adieu,  "  Good-night, 
my  worthy  friends ! "  he  laughingly  repeated,  as  he  rode  through  theii 
midst.  "Don't  trouble  yourselves  to  return  my  salutation.  Ha, 
ha!haV' 

The  young  courtier,  moving  after,  joined  in  the  jocular  leave-taking 
and  both  merrily  rode  away — "eaving  the  footpad  to  th«  companion 
•hip  of  his  speechless  "pais." 


OHAPTESi; 


AM  IKYITATIOJr* 


An  incident  bo  ludicrous  could  not  fail  to  tickle  tlie  fimej  of  tin 
jroung  courtier;  and  bring  his  risible  faculties  into  full  play.  It 
produced  this  effect;  and  to  such  a  degree,  that  for  some  minutes  ht 
could  do  nothing  but  laugh — loud  enough  to  have  been  heard  to  the 
remotest  confines  of  the  Heath. 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  said  he,  recalling  to  mind  the  contents  of 
his  sister's  letter,  "not  a  bit  should  I  wonder  if  this  fellow  be  the 
same  who  stopped  the  lady's  coach.    You've  heard  of  it  ? " 

"I  have,"  laughingly  replied  the  cavalier.  "No  doubt,  Gregory 
Garth  and  the  coach-robber  you  speak  of  are  one  and  the  same  indi- 
vidual." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  to  think  of  the  six  attendants! — ^there  was  that 
number,  I  believe,  escorting  the  coach — ^to  think  of  all  six  running 
away,  and  from  one  man !  " 

"  You  forget  the  band.  Ha !  ha  !  ha  !  It  is  to  be  presumed,  that 
Gregory  had  six  scare-crows  rigged  up  for  that  occasion  also.  Truer 
men,  by  my  troth,  than  the  cavaliers  who  accompanied  the  lady. 
Ha !  ha !  But  for  thejmmorality  of  the  act  it's  an  artifice  worthy 
of  my  old  instructor  in  the  art  of  venerie.  After  all,  I  should  have 
expected  better  of  the  ex-forester  than  finding  him  thus  transformed 
j|nto  a  footpad.  Poor  devil !  who  knows  what  may  have  been  his 
trials  and  temptations  ?  There  are  wrongs  daily  done  upon  England's 
people,  in  the  name — aye,  and  with  the  knowledge — of  England's 
king  that  would  make  a  criminal  of  the  meekest  Christian ;  and 
Gregory  Garth  was  never  particularly  distinguished  for  the  virtue 
of  meekness.  Something  may  have  been  done  to  madden  and  to 
drive  him  to  this  desperate  life.    I  shall  know  anon." 

"One  thing  in  his  favor,"  suggested  the  young  courtier,  who 
notwithstanding  the  rude  introduction,  appeared  to  be  favorably 
inclined  towards  the  footpad.  "  He  did  not  ill-treat  the  lady,  though 
left  all  alone  with  her.  Trur  he  stripped  her  of  her  jewelry ;  but 
beyond  that  he  behaved  gently  enough.  I  have  just  heard  the  sequel 
ef  the  story,  as  I  came  through  Uxbridge.    Ha !  ha !  odd  as  thi 


64  AH  nJVITATtOH. 

rest  of  the  Affair.  It  appears  that  before  leaying  her,  he  caught  om 
of  her  runaway  attendants ;  forced  him  back  upon  the  box ;  and, 
putting  the  reins  and  whip  into  the  Tarlet's  hands,  compelled  him  to 
eontinue  the  journey.** 

"All  as  you  say,  Master  Wade  I  heard  the  same  story  myself; 
though  little  suspecting  that  the  facetious  footpad  was  my  old  hench- 
man Gregory  Garth.  That  part  of  his  performance  was  natural 
enough.  The  rogue  had  always  a  dash  of  gallantry  in  his  compo- 
sition.   I*m  pleased  to  think  it's  not  all  gone  out  of  him.  *' 

"He  appears  very  repentant  after ** 

<' After  having  been  within  an  inch  of  taking  the  life  of  one  who 
— ^rather  should  I  say  of  losing  his  own.  It  was  a  lucky  turn 
that  brought  the  moonlight  on  that  bearded  visage  of  his;  else  he 
might  now  have  been  lying  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  silent  as  his 
scare-crow  companions.  By  my  troth  !  I  should  have  felt  sorry  to 
have  been  his  executioner.  I  am  glad  it  has  turned  out  as  it  has — 
more  especially  since  he  has  promised,  if  not  actual  repentance,  at 
least  some  sort  of  reformation.  It  may  not  be  too  late.  There's 
good  in  him — or  was — ^if  his  evil  courses  have  not  caused  its  complete 
eradication.  Well !  I  am  likely  to  see  him  soon ;  when  I  shall 
submit  his  soul  to  the  test,  and  find  whether  there  is  still  in  it  enough 
of  the  old  honesty  to  give  hope  of  his  regeneration.  The  entrance  to 
your  father's  Park  ?  ** 

The  speaker  nodded  tovrards  a  sombre  pile  of  ivy-grown  mason 
work — ^in  the  centre  of  which  could  be  seen  a  massive  gate,  its  serried 
rails  just  discernible  under  the  tall  chestnuts,  that  in  double  row 
shadowed  the  avenue  beyond. 

The  heir  of  Bulstrode  did  not  need  to  be  thus  reminded.  Three 
years  of  absence  had  not  effaced  from  his  memory  the  topographic 
details  of  scenes  so  much  loved,  so  long  enjoyed.  Well  remembered 
he  the  ways  that  led  towards  the  paternal  mansion ;  and  already, 
ere  his  fellow  traveler  ceased  speaking,  he  had  pulled  up  opposite  the 
oft-used  entrance. 

"  My  journey  extends  fiui;her  up  the  road,"  continued  the  cavalier, 
without  having  made  more  than  a  momentary  pause  in  his  speech. 
"I  am  sorry.  Master  Wade,  to  lose  your  agreeable  company;  but 
we  must  part.'* 

"Not,  sir,**  said  Walter,  looking  earnestly  toT^^ards  him,  "not  I 
trust,  till  you  have  given  me  an  opportunrty  of  thanking  you  for  the 
^rvice  you  have  rendered  me.    But  for  your  companionship,  the 


AN  INVrrATlOH.  54 

advfmturo,  as  well  as  my  day's  jounicy,  might  hava  had  a  different 
termination.  I  should  certainly  have  been  plundered—  perhaps  im- 
paled upon  the  long  pike  of  your  quondam  servitor.  Thanks  to  you, 
that  I  am  to  reach  home  in  safety.  I  hope,  therefore,  you  will  nol 
object  to  my  knowing  the  name  of  one,  who  has  done  me  such  aa 
essential  service." 

"I  have  but  slight  claim  to  your  gratitude,*'  replied  the  cavalier. 
"In  truth  not  any.  Master  Wade.  By  the  merest  accident  have  we 
been  thrown  together  as  compagnona  de  voyaf;e.** 

"  Your  modesty,  sir/*  rejoined  the  young  courtier — as  he  spoke 
bending  gracefully  towards  his  companion,  "  claims  my  admiration 
equally  with  that  courage,  of  which  I  have  now  witnessed  more  than 
one  display.  But  you  cannot  hinder  me  from  feeling  gratitude ;  nor 
yet  from  expressing  it.  If  you  deny  me  the  privilege  of  knowing 
your  name,  I  can  at  least  tell  my  friends  how  much  I  am  indebted  to 
Sir  Henry  the  Unknovm" 

"  Sir  Henry !  Ah !  Garth  styled  me  so.  The  old  forester  is  fond 
of  bestowing  titles.  My  father  was  so  called ;  and  honest  Gregory, 
in  his  lack  of  heraldic  skill,  thinks  the  title  must  be  hereditary.  It 
is  not  so,  however,  I  have  not  received  the  honor  of  knighthood  from 
the  sword  of  sacred  majesty.  What's  more,  it's  not  likely  I  ever 
shaU.    Ha!  ha!" 

The  words  that  concluded  this  speech — as  well  as  the  laugh  that 
followed — ^were  uttered  in  a  tone  of  defiant  bitterness ;  as  if  the  speaker 
held  such  loyal  honors  in  but  slight  estimation. 

The  young  courtier  thus  balked  in  obtaining  the  name  of  his  pro- 
tector, remained  for  a  moment  without  making  rejoinder.  He  was 
thinking  whether  in  the  matter  of  names  he  could  not  claim  a  fair  ex- 
change of  confidence — since  he  had  freely  given  his  own, — when  the 
cavaUer,  as  if  divining  his  thoughts,  again  accosted  him. 

"  Pardon  me,"  resumed  the  latter,  in  a  tone  of  apology.  **  Pardon 
me.  Master  Wade,  for  my  apparent  want  of  courtesy.  You  honor 
me  by  asking  my  name ;  and,  since  you  have  treated  me  so  frankly, 
I  have  neither  the  right  nor  the  wish  to  conceal  it  from  you.  It  is 
plain  Henry  Holtspur — not  Sir  Henry,  as  you  have  just  heard  me 
designated.  Furthermore,  Master  Wade;  if  you  know  anything  of  a 
rather  dilapidated  dwelling,  yclept  '  Stone  Dean ' — situated  in  the 
heart  of  the  forest,  some  three  miles  from  here — and  think  you  could 
find  your  way  thither,  I  can  promise  you  a  welcome,  a  mouthful  oi 
Tenison,  a  cup  of  Canary  to  wash  it  ^wn ;  and — ^not  much  more  | 


56  AN  mviTATroK. 

fear.    During  most  mornings  I  am  at  home,  if  yoa  will  take  JOVT 
ehance  of  riding  over." 

"  Nay,  you  must  visit  me  first,"  rejoined  "Walter.  **  I  shotiM  attk 
f  ou  in  now ;  but  for  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  I  fear  our  people  havt 
retired  for  the  night.  You  will  come  again;  and  permit  me  to  intro 
duce  you  to  my  father.  I  am  sure  he  would  like  to  thank  you  for  tht 
service  you  have  done  me ;  and  my  sister  Marion  too.'* 

A  thrill  of  sweet  secret  pleasure  shot  through  the  heart  of  Henrf 
Holtspur,  as  he  listened  to  the  last  words.  Thanks  from  Marion ! 
A  thought  from  her— even  though  it  were  but  given  in  gratitude ! 

Love !  Love !  sweet  art  thou  in  the  enjoyment ;  but  far  more  deli- 
cious is  the  dream  of  thy  anticipation ! 

Had  the  young  courtier  been  closely  observing,  he  might,  at  that 
moment,  have  detected  on  the  countenance  of  Henry  Holtspur,  a  pe- 
culiar expression — one  which  he  appeared  to  be  endeavoring  to  con- 


The  brother  of  his  mistress  is  the  last  man  to  whom  a  lover  cared 
to  coufid«  the  secret  of  his  bosom.  It  may  not  be  a  welcome  tale — 
even  when  the  fortunes  are  equal,  the  introduction  en  ngle,  and  the 
intentions  honorable.  But  if  in  any  of  these  circumstances  there 
chance  to  be  informality,  then  becomes  the  brother  the  btte  noire  of 
the  situation. 

Was  some  thought  of  this  kind  causing  Henry  Holtspur  a  peculiar 
•motion — ^prompting  him  to  repress  or  conceal  it  from  the  brother  ol 
Marion  Wade  ?  On  retiu'uing  thanks  for  the  promised  introduction, 
why  did  he  speak  with  an  air  of  embarrassment  ?  Why  upon  his 
countenance,  of  open  manly  character,  was  there  an  expression  almost 
furtive  ? 

The  young  courtier,  without  taking  note  of  these  circumstances, 
continued  to  urge  his  request. 

"  Well — ^you  promise  to  come  ?  *• 

«*  Some  time — with  pleasure." 

" Nay,  Master  Holspur,  *some  time '  is  too  indefinite;  but,  indeed 
•o  has  been  my  invitation.  I  shall  alter  it.  You  will  come  to-mor- 
row? Father  gives  a /cie  in  our  park.  'Tis  my  birthday;  and  the 
gports,  I  believe,  have  been  arranged  on  an  extensive  scale.  Say,  yo» 
will  be  one  of  our  guests  ? " 

**  With  all  my  heart,  Master  Wade.    I  shall  be  most  happy/* 

After  exchanging  a  mutual  good-night,  the  two  travelers  parted- 
Walter  entered  the  gate  of  the  park — while  the  cavalier  ocntinued 
•long  tbe  hlghwigTf  that  ran  parallel  to  its  palinga. 


A  QtTSEB  VALEDIOTOBT.  (^ 

CHAPTER  XI. 

A  QUlim  TALBDIOTOBT. 

Afler  seeing  the  two  travelers  ride  off,  the  disappcmted  footpad 
•tood  listening,  till  the  hoofstrokes  of  their  horses  died  upon  the  dis- 
tant road. 

Then  flinging  himself  upon  a  bank  of  earth;  and  having  assumed* 
sitting  posture — ^with  his  elbows  resting  upon  his  knees ;  and  hii 
bearded  chin  reposing  between  the  palms  of  his  hands — he  remained 
for  some  moments  silent  as  the  Sphinx,  and  equally  motionless. 

His  features  betrayed  a  strange  compound  of  expressions — not  to 
be  interpreted  by  any  one  ignorant  of  his  history,  or  of  the  adventur« 
that  had  just  transpired.  The  shadow  of  a  contrite  sadness  was  vis- 
ible upon  his  brow ;  while  in  his  dark  grey  eye  could  be  detected  a 
twinkle  of  chagrin — as  he  thought  of  the  pair  of  purses  so  unexpect- 
edly extricated  from  his  grasp. 

Plainly  was  a  struggle  passing  within  his  bosom.  Conscience  and 
cupidity  had  quarreled — their  first  outfall  for  a  long  period  of  time. 
The  contending  emotions  prevented  speech;  and,  it  is  superfluous  to 
say,  his  companions  respected  his  silence. 

In  the  countenance  of  Gregory  Garth,  despite  his  criminal  calling 
— even  in  his  worst  moments — there  were  lines  indicative  of  honesty. 
As  he  sat  by  the  roadside — ^that  roadside  near  which  he  had  so  of  ten 
skulked — with  the  moon  shining  full  upon  his  face,  these  lines  gradu- 
ally became  more  distinctly  defined ;  until  the  criminal  caste  com- 
pletely disappeared  from  his  features,  leaving  only  in  in  its  place  an 
expression  of  profound  melancholy.  But  for  the  mise  en  schie,  and 
the  dramatis  personm  surrounding  him,  any  one  passing  at  the  moment 
might  have  mistaken  him  for  an  honest  man,  suflering  from  some  grave 
•nd  recent  misfortune. 

But  as  no  one  passed,  he  was  left  free  to  indulge,  both  in  his  sor- 
row and  his  silence. 

At  length  the  latter  came  to  an  end.  The  voice  of  the  penitent 
ibotpad — no  longer  in  the  stern  accents  of  menace  and  command  but 
in  soft  and  subdued  tones — once  more  \nterrupted  the  stillness  of  th« 
night 


S8 

"  Oh,  lor— oh,  lor !  ••  muttered  he,  **  who'd  *  believed  1  shud  hir 
holden  my  pike  to  the  breast  o'  Master  Henry  ?  Niv^r  %  though* 
hed  I  to  use  it.  Only  bluster  to  make /em  yield  up  but  he'll  think 
as  how  I  intended  it  all  the  same.  Oh,  lor — oh,  lor !  he'll  niver  for- 
give me ;  well,  it  can't  a  be  holp  now ;  an'  here  go  to  keep  the  promiat 
I've  made  him.  No  more  touchin'  o'  purses,  or  nfiin  o'  fine  ladies  OB 
this  road.     That  game  be  all  over." 

For  a  moment  the  dark  shadow  upon  his  brow  appeared  to  partakt 
slightly  of  chagrin— as  if  there  still  lingered  some  regret  for  the 
promise  he  had  made ;  and  the  step  he  was  about  to  take.  The  strife 
between  conscience  and  cupidity  seemed  not  yet  definitively  decided. 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence,  and  then  came  the  decisioiL 
It  was  in  favor  of  virtue.    Conscience  had  triumphed. 

**  I'll  keep  me  word  to  him,"  cried  he,  springing  to  his  feet,  as  if  to 
give  emphasis  to  the  resolve.     "  I'll  keep  it,  if  I  shud  starve !  ** 

"  Disband ! "  he  continued  addressing  himself  to  the  silent  circle,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  mock  command.  "  Disband !  ye  beggars !  Yer 
cap'n,  Greg'ry  Garth,  ha'n't  no  longer  any  need  o'  yer  sarvices. 
Dang  it,  meeats ! "  added  he,  still  preserving  his  tone  of  mock  serious* 
ness,  "  I  be  sorry  to  part  wi'  ye.  Ye've  been  as  true  as  steel  to  me; 
an'  ne'er  a'  angry  word  'as  iver  passed  atween  us.  Well  it  can't  be 
holp,  boys — that  it  can't.  The  best  o'  friends  must  part,  some  timt 
or  other ;  but  afore  we  separates,  I'm  a  goin'  to  purvide  for  one  an* 
all  on  ye.  I've  got  a  friend  over  theer  in  Uxbridge,  who  keeps  a  big- 
gish trade  goin'  on — ^they  call  it  panbrokin'.  It's  a  money-makin' 
bizness.  I  dare  say  he  can  find  places  for  all  o'  ye.  Ye  be  sure  o' 
doin'  well  wi'  him.  Ye'll  be  in  good  company ;  wi'  plenty  o'  goold  an' 
jeweltry  all  w'  round  ye.  Don't  be  afeerd  o'  what'U  happen  to  ye. 
I'll  take  duppleickets  for  yer  seeurity;  so  that  in  case  o'  me  nee^n' 
ye  again " 

At  this  crisis  the  fantastic  valedictory  of  the  retiring  robber  waf 
brought  to  a  sudden  termination,  by  his  hearing  a  sound — ^similar  to 
those  for  which  his  ear  had  been  but  too  well  trained  to  listen.  It 
was  the  footfall  of  a  horse,  denoting  the  approach  of  a  horseman — a 
traveler.  It  was  neither  of  those  who  had  just  passed  over  the  Heath ; 
since  it  came  from  the  direction  opposite  to  that  in  whick  they  had 
gone — ^up  the  road  from  Redhill. 

There  w*s  but  one  horseman — as  the  hoof-stroke  indicated.    From 

the  same  mdex  it  could  be  told,  that  he  was  soming  on  at  a  slow  pace 

-«  walk  in  fact — as  if  ignorant  of  the  road,  or  afraid  of  proceeding 


M 

il  ft  rapid  rate  along  a  path  which  was  far  from  being  a  smooth  one. 

On  hearing  the  hoof-stroke,  Gregory  Garth  instinctively,  as  instant- 
\jf  desisted  from  his  farcical  apostrophe ;  and,  without  offering  th« 
slightest  apology  to  his  well-behaved  auditors^  turned  his  face  away 
from  them,  and  stood  listening. 

**  A  single  horseman  ? "  muttered  he  to  himself,  "  crawlin'  along  at 
snail  pace?  A  farmer  maby,  who's  tuk  a  drap  too  much  at  the  Sar- 
■cen'a  Head,  an'  's  fallen  asleep  in  his  seddle  ?  Now  I  think  o't,  it 
be  market  day  in  that  thear  town  o'  Uxbridge." 

The  instincts  of  the  footpad — which  had  for  the  moment  yielded 
before  the  moral  shock  of  the  humiliating  encounter  with  his  old 
master — ^began  to  resume  dominion  over  him. 

** Wonder,"  continued  he,  in  a  muttered  tone — "wonder  if  the 
diaw-bacon  ha'  got  any  cash  'bout  him  ?  Or  heve  he  been  an'  drunk 
H  all  at  the  inn  ?  Pish !  what  do  it  matter  whether  he  heve  or  no  ? 
Ha'nt  I  gone  an'  promised  Master  Henry  'twould  be  my  last  night? 
Dang  it !    I  must  keep  my  word." 

**  Stay ! "  he  continued,  after  reflecting  a  moment.  "  I  said  that  it 
•hud  be  my  last  night  ?  That's  *zactly  what  ye  sayed,  an'  nothin' 
else,  Greg'ry  Garth !    It  wouldn't  be  breakin'  no  promise  if  I 

•*  The  night  be  yooimg  yet !  'Taint  much  arter  eleven  o'  the  clock  ? 
I'ye  just  herd  Chaffont  bells  strikin'  eleven,  A  night  am't  over  tiD 
twdve.    That's  the  <  law  o'  the  land.' 

**  What's  the  use  o'talkin'  ?  Things  can't  be  wuss  wi'  me  than 
they  is  already.  I've  stole  the  sheep ;  an'  if  I'm  to  swing  for't,  I 
moat  as  well  goo  in  for  the  hul  flock.  After  all,  M  aster  Henry  ha'nt 
promised  to  keep  me ;  an'  I  may  starve  for  me  honest  intentions.  I 
ha'nt  enough  sflver  left  to  kiver  a  spittle  wi' ;  an'  as  for  these  rags, 
Ihey  ar'nt  goin'  to  fetch  me  a  fortune.  Dash  it !  I'll  stop  chaw-ba- 
eon,  an'  see  whether  he  ha'n't  been  a  seUin'  his  beests. 

**  Keep  yeer  places,  lads  ! "  continued  he,  turning  once  more  to  his 
dummies;  and  addressing  them, as  if  he  really  believed  them  to  be 
**  lads."  "  Keep  yeer  places ;  an'  behave  jest  the  same  as  if  nuthin'  'd 
been  sayed  about  our  seperatin' !  " 

Ooncluding  his  speech  with  this  cautionary  peroration,  the  footpad 
i;lided  back  under  the  shadow  of  the  hovel ;  and  silently  placed  him- 
self in  a  position  to  pounce  upon  the  unwary  wayfarer,  whose  ill  luck 
was  conducting  him  to  the  crossing  of  Jaret's  Heath  at  that  late  hoof 
iCtheiiighi 


STRIPPING  A   COURTIKR. 


OHAPTEB  Xn. 


BTElfTIXQ  A  OOUBTiaB. 


The  robber  had  not  long  to  wait  for  his  Tictiia.    The  necessary 

preparations  for  receiving  the  latter  occupied  some  time— enough  fof 
the  slow- paced  traveler  to  get  forward  upon  the  ground ;  which  ht 
succeeded  in  doing,  just  as  Gregory  Garth  had  secured  himself  an 
ambush,  within  the  shadow  of  the  hovel.  There  stood  he,  in  the  at  • 
titude  of  a  hound  in  leash,  straining  upon  the  spring. 

When  the  horseman,  emerging  from  under  the  arcade  of  the  trees, 
rode  out  into  the  open  ground,  and  the  moonlight  fell  upon  him  and 
his  horse,  the  footpad  was  slightly  taken  by  surprise.  Instead  of  a 
farmer,  fuddled  with  cheap  tipple  obtained  at  the  Saracen's  Head, 
Garth  saw  before  him  an  elegant  cavalier,  mounted  upon  a  smoking 
but  handsome  steed,  and  dressed  in  a  full  suit  of  shining  satin  ! 

Though  surprised,  Gregory  was  neither  dismayed,  nor  disconcerted. 
On  the  contrary,  he  was  all  the  better  satisfied  at  seeing — ^in  the  place 
of  a  drunken  clod-hopper,  perchance  with  an  empty  wallet — a  gentle- 
man whose  appearance  gave  every  promise  of  a  plethoric  purse ;  and 
one,  also,  whose  aspect  declared  to  the  practiced  eye  of  the  footpad, 
that  compelling  him  to  part  with  it,  would  be  an  achievement  neither 
difficult  nor  dangerous. 

Without  losing  an  instant,  after  making  this  observation,  the  rob- 
ber rushed  out  from  und^r  the  shadow  of  the  hut ;  and,  just  as  he 
had  hailed  the  two  horsemen  half  an  hour  before,  did  he  salute  »h« 
satin-clad  cavalier. 

Very  different,  however,  was  the  response  which  he  now  received 
in  return  to  the  stereotyped  demand,  "  Stand  and  deliver !  "  Sucb 
travelers  as  the  black  horseman  were  rare  upon  the  road ;  and  he  of  the 
«raoking  steed,  and  satin  vestments,  instead  of  drawing  a  pistol  from 
his  holsters,  or  a  sword  from  its  sheath,  threw  up  both  hands  in  token 
of  surrender;  and,  in  a  trembling  voice,  piteously  appealed  foi 
mercy. 

"  Hang  it,  master  ! "  cried  Garth,  still  keepmg  his  pike  pointed  %i 
^  breast  of  the  frightened  traveler,  "  doant  be  »o  skeeart!  they  woan't 


STRIPPING  A   CX)TTEnER.  ^ 

Hurt  ye,  man.  Nee'r  a  one  o'em's  goin'  to  lay  a  finger  on  ye-  ^that 
be,  if  ye  doant  make  a  fool  o'  yerself  by  showin'  resistance.  Xeep 
yeer  ground,  boys!  The  gentleman  hain't  no  intention  to  git 
trouble." 

"No — I  af^uro  you,  no!"  eagerly  ejaculated  the  traveler.  *«1 
mean  no  barm  to  anybody.  Believe  me,  friends  !  I  don't,  indeed 
You're  welcome  to  what  money  I've  got.  It  isn't  much.  I'm  only 
•  poor  messenger  of  the  king." 

"  A  messenger  o'  the  king  !  "  echoed  the  captain  of  the  robbers, 
showing  a  new  interest  in  the  announcement. 

"  An',  if  I  may  ask  the  quest'n,"  proceeded  he,  drawing  nearer  to 
the  traveler,  and  rudely  clutching  hold  of  his  bridle-rein,  **  whither 
be  ye  bound,  good  master  ? " 

**  Oh  sir,"  replied  the  trembling  courtier,  "  I  am  glad  I've  met 
with  some  one  who,  perhaps,  can  tell  me  the  way.  I  am  the  bearer 
of  a  message  from  his  gracious  Majesty  to  Captain  Scarthe,  of  the 
King's  Cuirassiers ;  who  is,  or  should  be,  by  this  time,  quartered 
with  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  of  Bulstrode  Park — somewhere  in  thif 
part  of  the  county  of  Buckingham." 

"  Ho,  ho  !  "  muttered  Gregory  Garth,  speaking  to  himself,  "  mes- 
sage from  his  majesty  to  Captain  Scarthe  ! — Sir  Marmaduke  Wade ! 
Bulstrode  Park  !    What  the  ole  Nick  be  all  this  about  ?  " 

"  You  know  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  do  you  not,  good  friend  ?  ** 

«*  Well,  Master  Silk-and-Satin,"  scornfully  drawled  the  footpad, 
«*  without  having  the  pleasure  o'  knowin'  ye,  or  the  honor  o'  bein' 
your  good  friend  eyther,  I  think  as  how  I  mout  say,  that  I  does  know 
somethin'  o'  that  very  gentleman.  Sir  Marm'duke  Wade ;  though  it 
be  news  to  me  that  there  be  such  an  individual  as  Captain  Scarthe, 
eyther  in  the  county  o'  Bucks,  or  in  'the  kingdom  o'  England — to  say 
nothin'  o'  a  troop  of  King's  Kewrassers  bein'  quartered  at  Bulstrode 
Park.    All  5'  that  there  be  Greek  to  Greg'ry  Garth." 

*'  Good  ft^&nd !  I  assure  you  it's  nothing  but  the  truth.  Captain 
Scarthe  and  his  troop  have  certainly  arrived  at  Bulstrode  Park  by 
this  time ;  and  if  you  will  only  conduct  me  thither " 

"  Bah  !  that  arn't  my  bizness.  Conduct  yerself.  Bulstrode  Park 
lin't  a  step  from  here.  As  to  Captain  Scarthe,  or  the  King's  Kew- 
rassers, I  shouldn't  know  eyther  one  nor  t'other  from  a  side  0'  boU 
leather.  If  ye've  got  e'er  a  message,  yer  can  hand  it  over  to  me,  and 
along*  wi'  it  whatever  loose  cash  ye  be  carryin'  on  yer  fine-clad  car 
mM.    Fork  oat!'' 


61 

**  Oh !  sir ;  to  my  money  you're  welcome — my  watch  also,  and  thi 
ehain.  But  as  you  love  our  good  king,  let  me  ride  on  my  errand,  on 
which  he  has  despatched  me !  " 

"  Mayhe  I  don't  love  *  our  good  king,'  so  much  as  ye  think  for,  y« 
spangled  flunky !  Come,  out  wi'  all  yeVe  got,  or  these  fellows  'U 
strip  ye  to  the  skin.  Never  mind,  hoys !  Keep  yer  grouiMi ;  he  an't 
•goin'  to  he  troublesome." 

"  No,  no,  good  friends.  I  promise  you  I  shall  not.  I  yield  up 
everything.  Here's  my  purse.  For  your  sakes  I'm  sorry  there's 
no  more  in  it.  Here's  my  watch.  I  had  it  a  present  from  our  most 
gracious  queen.    You  see,  sir,  it's  very  valuable !  " 

The  footpad  eagerly  clutched  the  time-piece ;  and,  holding  it  between 
bis  great  horny  Angers,  examined  it  imder  the  light  of  the  moon. 

"  It  must  be  valleyable,"  said  he,  turning  it  over  and  over.    <<  II 
appears  to  be  kivered  all  over  wi'  presious  stones.    A  presant  from 
the  queen, 'ye  say  ?  " 
•*  I  had  it  from  her  majesty's  own  hands.** 

'*  Dang  her  for  a  French !     This  be  the  way  she  spends  ou» 

English  money.  She  be  a  bigger  robber  than  Greg'ry  Garth — ^that 
she  be — ^an'  ye  can  tell  her  I  said  so,  the  next  time  ye  ha'  the  chance 
o*  palaverin'  to  her.    Go  on !    Emp'y  yer  pockets  o'  everythin'." 

"I've  only  this  penknife;  these  tablets,  and  pencil — ^that's  all,  I 
assure  you." 

"  What's  that  glitterin'  thing,**  asked  the  footpad,  pointing  te 
something  the  courtier  appeared  anxious  to  conceal,  **  as  hangs  about 
yer  neck .?    Let's  have  a  squint  at  it  ? 
"That,  sir,  that  is  a— a— a  locket.** 
«« A  locket ;  what  be  that  ?  " 

««WeU,  it's— it's " 

•*  It  be  wounderful  like  a  bit  o*  a  watch.    What  be  inside  o*  it  ?  *■ 
"Nothing." 

**  Nothin*.    Then  what  do  you  carry  it  for  ?  ** 
"  Oh,  there  is  something  inside;  nothing  of  valae,  however;  it^s 
tnly  a  lock  of  hair." 

"  Only  hau*  ?  A  lovelock  I  s'pose  ?  Well,  that  am't  o'much  val- 
ley sure  enough — ^leastwise  to  me  it  am't — and  yer  may  keep  the 
hair.  But  I'll  trouble  ye  for  the  case.  It  look  like  it  mout  pawn 
for  somethin'.    Quick  off  wi'  it." 

The  terrified  courtier  instantly  complied  with  the  demand — ^in  his 
fr]|jht  not  even  taking  advantage  of  the  |)ermission  |;ranted  him  ^ 


63 

preserve  the  precious  love  token ;  but  deliyermg  both  lock  uid  lockel 

into  the  outstretched  fingers  of  the  footpad. 

**  Oh,  sir,"  said  he,  in  a  supplicating  tone,  ^  that  is  eyeiything^ 
everything !  '* 

"  No,  it  am't,"  gniflay  returned  the  robber,  "  ye've  got  a  nioeish 
doublet  thear — satin  spick-span — ^trunks  to  match  ;  boots  an'  spurs 
o'  the  first  quality;  a  tidyish  hat  and  feathers;  an'  a  sharpish  toad- 
sticker  by  yer  side.  I  doant  partickler  want  any  o*  these  things  foi 
meself;  but  I've  got  a  relation  that  I'd  like  to  make  'em  a  present  U>. 
So,  strip  ! " 

**  What,  sir !  would  you  send  me  naked  on  my  errand  ?  You  for- 
get that  I'm  the  bearer  of  a  message  from  the  king  ?  " 

"  No,  daang  me  if  I  do ;  an'  daang  the  king,  too !  That  ere's 
poterj  for  ye.  I've  heerd  ye  be  fond  o'  it  at  Court.  I  like  i»xm» 
better ;  an'  my  prose  be,  dismount  an'  strip." 

Notwithstanding  the  tone  of  raillery  the  footpad  was  pleased  to 
express  himself,  the  imfortunate  courtier  saw  that  he  was  all  the 
while  in  serious  earnest,  and  that  there  would  be  danger  in  resisting 
his  demands. 

Spite  of  his  reluctance,  therefore,  he  was  compelled  to  slide  down 
from  his  saddle,  and  disrobe  himself  in  the  middle  of  the  road. 

Not  imtil  he  stooi)  nearly  stark  naked,  did  the  relentless  robber 
let  him  desist — Cleaving  to  him  little  else  than  his  shirt  and  stockings  ! 
^  Oh,  sir !  you  will  not  mount  me  thus  ? "  said  the  wretched  man, 
appealing  with  upheld  hands  to  the  footpad.  "  Surely  you  will  not 
send  me  in  this  guise— the  bearer  of  a  royal  message  ?  What  a  figure 
I  should  cut  on  horseback,  without  my  boots — ^without  my  hat  or 

doublet — without ' ' 

'<  Stash  yer  palaver !"  cried  Garth,  who  was  busied  making  the 
cast-off  clothes  into  a  bundle.    ''Who  said  ye  war  goin'  to  cut  a 
figger  a-horseback !    Whar's  yer  horse,  I  sh'd  like  to  know !  " 
The  courtier  gave  a  doubting  nod  towards  the  steed. 
**0h,"  responded  the  footpad,  coolly  continuing  his  task,  ''moat 
a  been  yer  horse  ten  minutes  agone.    He  is  myen  now.    I  have  been 
afoot  long  enough,  while  ye  an'  youm  ha'  been  ridin'.    It  be  my 
tune  to  mount  for  a  bit.    That's  only  fair,  tmm  an'  turn,  am't  it  ?  *• 
The  dismounted  messenger  made  no  reply.    Though  surprise  and 
terror  had  by  this  time  well  nigh  deprived  him  of  his  senses,  he  had 
enough  left  to  admonish  hhn  that  all  remonstrance  would  be  idle. 
Ee  said  nothing,  tb^rf^f^ret  ^ut  stood  with  shivering  frvpue  mi  t^tb 


^battering  like  castanets ;  for  it  chanced  to  le  one  of  those  ^ill  an 
kumnal  nights,  when  the  cold  is  felt  ahnost  as  sensibly  as  in  December 

The  footpad  took  no  further  notice  of  him,  until  he  had  completed 
the  binding  of  the  bundle.  Then  straightening  himself  up,  face  to 
hce  with  his  victim,  he  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot  with  a  half 
quizzical,  half  serious  look. 

The  latter  at  length  predominated— as  if  some  suspicious  thought 
had  come  uppermost  in  his  mind. 

"Cowardly  as  ye  be, ye  king's  minion,"  said  he, addressing  the 
trembling  messenger  in  a  tone  of  scornful  bitterness, "  thear  mout  be 
cunnin'  an'  mischief  in  ye.  I'll  take  care  that  ye  doant  goo  furder 
this  night.  Come  along  into  the  house  here !  Te  woan't  object  to 
that — seein'  as  ye're  so  starved-like  outside.    Come  along ! " 

And  without  waiting  for  either  the  assent  or  refusal  of  the  indivi- 
dual thus  solicited,  the  robber  seized  him  by  the  wrist;  and  half  led, 
half  dragged  him  over  the  threshold  of  the  hovel. 

Once  inside  the  ruin,  he  proceeded  to  bind  his  unresisting  victim 
irith  cords,  which  he  had  taken  in  along  with  him.  He  had  plenty 
•f  light  for  his  purpose ;  for  a  portion  of  the  roof  had  fallen  in,  and 
tht  moonlight  shone  brightly  upon  the  thatch-strewn  floor. 

Expert  in  the  handling  of  ropes,  his  task  was  soon  performed;  and 
in  a  few  minutes  the  king's  messenger  stood  with  his  arms  bound 
behind  his  back,  and  his  ancles  lashed  as  tightly  together  as  if  he  had 
been  a  daLgerous  felon ! 

"Now,"  said  the  robber,  after  securing  the  last  loop,  apparently 
to  his  satisfa^'tion,  "ye  woan't  come  loose  till  somebody  lets  ye ;  an' 
that  ar'n't  gomg  to  be  me.  I  ha'n't  no  wish  to  be  cruel  to  ye — tho' 
je  are  a  king's  flunkey,  an'  as  ye'll  be  easier  lying  down  than  stan- 
nin'  up  I'll  put  ye  i'  that  position." 

As  he  said  this,  he  let  go  his  hold;  aad  permitted  the  onfortunata 
man  to  fsM  heavily  on  the  floor. 

"  Lie  thear.  Master  Messenger,  till  somebody  lifts  ye.  Ill  see  to 
the  deliverin'  o'  yer  message.    Good  Night !  " 

And  with  a  mocking  laugh,  Gregory  Garth  strode  back  over  the 
threshold — ^leaving  the  astounded  traveler  to  reflections  that  were 
neither  very  lucid  nor  very  pleasant. 

After  passing  out  of  the  hut,  the  footpad  hastened  to  take  his  de- 
parture from  the  spot. 

He  led  the  steed  of  the  messenger  out  mto  the  middle  of  the  road, 

IDd  tied  the  }^m^  b^  had  m^i^  to  th#  c^tte  of  tb^  ift44Ie.    g^ 


61 

then  glided  to  the  neu*  side  of  the  horse;  ftnd  caught  hold  ef  th« 
withers — as  if  about  to  mount. 

Something,  however,  caused  him  to  hesitate;  and  an  interval  e»apsed, 
without  his  making  any  effort  to  get  into  the  saddle. 

"  Dang  it,  old  partners  ! "  cried  he,  at  length — addressing  hirasell 
to  his  band  of  dummies,  whom  he  had  been  for  some  time  neglecting 
— "  'twon't  do  for  us  to  part  this  fashion.  If  Gregory  Garth  are 
promoted  to  be  a  highwayman,  he  ar'n't  going  to  look  down  on  hi« 
|.ials  o'  the  path.  No !  Ye  shall  go  'long  wi'  me,  one  an'  ^11.  Though 
the  hul  o'  ye  put  thegither  ar'n't  worth  this  shinin'  ticker  I've  got  ir 
my  fob,  for  all  that  I  can  make  better  use  o'  ye,  than  leavin'  ye  here 
to  scare  the  crows  o'  Jarret's  Heath.  Come  along,  my  boys !  Ise 
boun'  this  stout  charger  from  the  royal  mews  be  able  to  carry  the 
hul  on  us,  an'  not  think  it  much  o'  a  looad  neyther.  I'll  find  room 
for  all  o'  ye — some  on  the  crupper,  an'  the  rest  on  the  withers.  Come 
along,  then ! " 

Without  waiting  for  any  reply  to  his  proposal,  he  glided  round  the 
edge  of  the  opening,  and  rapidly  dismantling  the  dummier  one  after 
the  other,  he  returned  toward  the  horse  with  their  ravished  vestment*. 

Hanging  the  "old  clo'"  across  both  croup  and  withers — and  there 
attaching  them  by  strings — ^he  at  length  climbed  into  the  saddle 
lately  occupied  by  the  king's  messenger,  and  rode  gleefully  away. 

Just  as  he  had  cleared  the  crossing  of  the  road,  the  clock  of  Chal- 
font  St.  Peter's  tolled  the  hour  of  midnight. 

"  Exact  twelve ! "  exclaimed  he,  in  a  tone  of  congratulation.  "  Well, 
*twur  a  close  shave;  but  I'  ve  kep  my  word  to  Master  Henry !  If  I 
tied  broke  that,  I  could  niver  a  looked  hinr.  i'  the  face  agin.  Ha ! 
Hear  them  old  church  bells !  How  sweet  >hey  sound  on  the  air  o* 
the  night !  They'  mind  me  o'  the  time  when  I  wur  a  innocent  child. 
Ring  on !  ring  on !  ye  bells  o'  Peter's  Chattbnt !  Ring  on,  an'  teU 
the  world  that  Greg'ry  Garth  ifl  biddin'  good-bj  to  the  road ! " 


THB  FETF  OHAMPETBB. 

OHAPTSB    Xm. 

wttm  OHAMp£nuk 


Were  the  Ohiltein  hills  stripped  of  the  tunber»  to  this  dsj  soresft* 

ing  a  considerable  portion  of  their  surface,  they  would  present  a 
striking  resemblance  to  those  portions  of  the  great  North  Americai 
steppe;  known  in  the  trapper  parlance  as  "rolling  prairies."  Witli 
equal  truthfulness  might  they  be  likened  to  the  ocean,  after  a  great 
storm ;  when  the  waves  no  longer  carry  their  foaming  crests ;  and 
the  undulations  of  the  swell  have,  to  a  certain  extent,  lost  their  paral- 
lelism. If  you  can  fancy  the  liquid  element  then  suddenly  trans- 
formed into  solid  earth,  you  will  have  a  good  idea  of  the  shape  of  the 
Chilterns. 

From  time  immemorial  have  these  hills  enjoyed  a  peculiar  reputa- 
tion. In  the  forward  march  of  England's  agriculture,  it  was  long  ere 
their  sterile  soil  tempted  the  touch  of  the  plough;  and  even  at  this 
hour  vast  tracts  of  their  surface  lie  unreclaimed  in  "  commons  "  coy- 
ered  with  heath,  furze,  or  forests  of  beech-wood. 

At  various  periods  of  our  history,  their  fame  has  not  been  of  the 
fairest.  The  wild  woods,  while  giving  shelter  to  the  noble  stag,  and 
other  creatures  of  the  chase,  also  served  as  a  choice  retreat  for  the 
outlaw  and  the  robber ;  and  in  past  times,  it  became  necessary  to  ap- 
point a  "  steward  or  warden,"  with  a  body  of  armed  attendants,  to 
give  safe  conduct  to  the  traveler  passing  through  their  limits.  Hence 
the  origin  of  that  noted  office — ^now  happily  a  sinecure ;  though,  un 
happily,  not  the  only  sinecure  of  like  obsolete  utility  in  this  grievous- 
ly taxed  land. 

Near  the  eastern  verge  of  the  Chiltem  country,  is  situated  the 
noble  park  of  Bulstrode.  It  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  enclosureR  in 
England;  older  than  the  invasion  of  the  Norman;  perhaps  as  old  as 
the  evacuation  of  the  Roman.  In  the  former  epoch  it  was  the  scene 
of  strife — as  the  remains  of  a  Saxon  encampment  lying  within  its 
limits,  with  a  singular  legend  attached — will  testify. 

Extending  over  an  area  of  a  thousand  acres,  there  is  scarce  a  rood 
of  Bulstrode  Park  that  could  be  called  level  ground— the  camp 
«Dclo9Dr^  dready'  iii^ti9ii^4,  fOTvmi  th^  lingle  exception.    Tht 


THJB   FBTK  OHAMPETEE.  67 

iuiiace  exhibits  %  series  of  smooth  rounded  hills,  and  undulatinjj 
ridges,  separated  frora  each  other  by  deep  valley-like  raviues — th« 
concavities  of  the  latter  so  resembling  the  convexities  of  the  former, 
as  to  suggest  the  idea  that  the  hills  have  been  scooped  out  of  th« 
valleys ;  and  placed  in  an  inverted  position  beside  them.  The  park, 
itself,  offers  a  fair  specimen  of  the  scenery  of  the  Chilterns — the 
ocean  swell  suddenly  brought  to  a  stand;  the  waves,  and  the 
**  troughs  "  between,  having  lost  their  paralleUsm.  The  valleys  tra- 
verse in  different  directions,  here  running  into  each-  other ;  there 
shallowing  upward,  or  ending  abruptly  in  deep  romantic  dells,  thickly 
copsed  with  hawthorn,  holly,  or  hazel — the  favorite  haunts  of  the 
nightingale.  The  ridges  join  each  other  in  a  similar  fashion ;  or  rise 
into  isolated  hills,  so  smoothly  coped  as  to  seem  artificial.  Belts  of 
shrubbery;  and  clumps  of  gigantic  trees — elm,  oak,  beech,  and 
chestnut — mottle  the  slopes,  or  crown  their  summits ;  while  the 
gpaces  between  exhibit  a  sward  of  that  vivid  verdure — only  to  be 
seen  in  the  pastures  and  parks  of  England.  Such  was  Bulstrode 
Park  in  the  seventeenth  century ;  such  with  but  slight  changes,  is  it 
at  t\w  present  day — a  worthy  residence  for  the  noblest  family  in  the 
land. 

It  is  the  morning  of  the  ftte  arranged  by  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade 
—to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  his  son's  birthday ;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  commemorate  his  return  to  the  paternal  mansion. 

The  red  aurora  of  an  autumnal  morning  has  given  promise  of  a 
brilliant  day ;  and  as  if  to  keep  that  promise,  a  golden  sun,  already 
some  degrees  above  the  horizon,  is  gradually  mountmg  into  a  canopy 
of  cloudless  blue. 

His  beams,  striking  obliquely  through  the  foliage  of  the  forest,  fall 
frith  a  subdued  hght  upon  the  earth ;  but  in  the  more  open  undula- 
tions of  the  park  they  have  already  kissed  the  dew  from  the  grass ; 
and  the  verdant  turf  seems  to  invite  the  footstep — like  some  vast 
carpet  spread  dNrer  the  arena  of  the  expected  sports. 

It  is  evident  that  the  invitation  of  Sir  Marmaduke  had  been  exten- 
sively circulated ;  and  accepted.  On  every  road  and  path  tending  in 
the  direction  of  his  residence,  and  from  a  distance  of  many  miles, 
groups  of  rustics,  in  their  gayest  holiday  dresses,  have  been  seen  from 
an  early  hour  in  the  morning,  proceeding  towards  the  scene  of  the  fete 
— old  and  young;  fair  and  dark;  comely  and  common- looking ,  aU 
•qually  joyous  and  gleeful. 


08  ^™*  FBTB  CHAMPETBSf* 

Within  the  tined  of  the  old  Saxon  encampment  i  large  ebinpany  hu 
Essembled.  There  are  thousands  in  all — some  roaming  over  the 
ground;  some  seated  under  shady  trees,  on  the  simmiii  of  the  turf- 
grown  moat.  Here  and  there  may  be  seen  large  numbers  forming  n 
'*ring" — ^the  spectators  of  some  sport  that  Is  progressing  in  their 
midst. 

Of  sports,  there  are  many  kinds  carried  on  at  the  same  time.  Here 
is  played  the  game  of  "balloon;  *'  a  huge  leathern  ball,  inflated  with 
hot  air,  and  bandied  about  amidst  a  circle  of  players — ^the  game  be- 
ing to  keep  the  ball  passing  from  one  to  the  other. 

There,  you  may  see  another  party  engaged  in  a  game  of  **  bowls,'* 
fiwhionable  as  the  favorite  of  royalty;  and  further  on,  a  crowd  clus- 
tered around  a  contest  of  "single-stick,"  where  two  stout  feUows  are 
cudgeling  one  another,  as  if  determined  on  a  mutual  cracking  of  skulls 
— a  feat  however,  not  so  easy  of  accomplishment. 

Not  far  off,  you  may  behold  the  gentler  sport  of  "kiss  in  the  ring,*' 
where  blue-eyed  Saxon  girls  are  pursued  by  their  rustic  beaux,  and 
easily  overtaken. 

At  other  places,  you  may  witness  a  wrestling  match;  a  game  of 
foot-ball,  or  quoits;  with  "pitching  the  stone;"  racing;  leaping; and 
vaulting. 

At  a  short  distance  off,  and  outside  the  encampment,  may  be  seen 
an  al  fresco  kitchen,  on  an  extensive  scale ;  where  the  servants  of  Sir 
Marmaduke  are  engaged  in  roasting  inmiense  barons  of  beef ;  and  huge 
hogs  cleft  lengthwise.  An  hour  or  two  later,  and  this  spot  will  be 
the  most  attractive  of  all. 

Not  alone  does  the  peasant  world  appear  in  the  park  of  Sir  Marma- 
duke Wade.  Cavaliers  picturesquely  attired,  in  the  splendid  costumes 
of  the  time,  along  with  high-born  dames,  are  seen  standing  in  groups 
over  the  ground.  Some  are  spectators  of  the  sports;  though  not  a 
few  of  both  sexes  occasionally  take  part  in  them.  The  fete  champetr§ 
is  a  fashionable  mode  of  amusement,  where  rank  is,  for  the  time,  sur- 
rendered to  the  desire  for  simple  enjoyment;  and  it  is  not  altogether 
outre  for  the  mistress  of  the  mansion  to  mingle  with  her  maidens  in 
the  "  out-door  race; "  nor  the  squire  to  take  a  hand  at  "single-stick,' 
or  "  bowls,"  with  his  rustic  retainers. 

Even  royalty,  in  those  days,  was  accustomed  to  such  condescension. 

Such  was  the  gay  spectacle  exhibited  in  the  park  of  Sir  Marmaduke 
Wade ;  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  that  happy  day,  that  had  givei 
him  a  son  and  heir. 


fOBWiUBLD— KABOB.  A 


CHAPTER  XIT. 


Tlie  bells  o!*  Fxbridge  were  tolling  the  hour  of  neon.  ScAfthe'i 
oairassiers  wera  still  by  the  roadside  inn,  though  in  full  armor ;  tUid 
Mch  trooper  standing  by  the  side  of  his  horse,  ready  to  take  saddle. 

It  was  a  late  hour  to  begin  their  march ;  but  they  had  been  detain- 
ed. The  freshly  rasped  hoofs  of  the  horses  might  declare  the  cause 
of  the  detention.  The  forges  of  Uxbridge  had  been  called  into  re- 
quisition for  the  shoeing  of  the  troop. 

There  was  no  special  need  for  haste.  They  had  not  far  to  go;  and, 
the  duty  upon  which  they  were  bent,  could  be  entered  into  at  any 
hour.    At  twelve  they  were  all  ready  for  the  route. 

"  To  horse ! "  was  uttered  in  the  usual  abrupt  tone  of  command, 
and  at  the  same  instant  the  two  officers  were  seen  issuing  from  the 
doorway  of  the  inn. 

The  clattering  of  the  steel,  as  the  cuirassiers  sprang  to  their  saddles, 
could  be  heard  on  the  calm  air  of  the  autumn  noon,  to  the  distance  of 
a  mile.  The  shop-keepers  of  Uxbridge  heard  it ;  and  were  only  too 
glad  when  told  its  interpretation.  All  night  long,  Scarthe's  royal 
swashbucklers  had  been  swaggering  through  the  streets ;  disturbing 
the  tranquillity  of  their  town,  and  leaving  many  a  score  unsettled. 

No  wonder  they  rejoiced,  when  that  clinking  of  sabres,  and  clashing 
of  cuirasseSy  declared  the  departure  of  Captain  Scarthe  and  his  foUow- 
mg  from  the  hostelry  of  the  Saracen's  Head. 

Their  men  having  mounted,  the  t\yo  officers  betook  themselves  to 
their  saddles,  though  with  less  alertness.  The  comet  seemed  to  have 
a  difficulty  in  finding  his  stirrup;  and,  after  he  had  succeeded  in  get- 
ting into  his  seat,  it  appeared  an  open  question  whether  he  should  be 
able  to  keep  it.    Stubbs  was  intoxicated. 

His  superior  officer  was  affected  in  a  similar  fashion;  though  to  a 
less  degree.  At  all  events,  he  did  not  show  his  tipsiness  so  palpably. 
Ho  was  able  to  mount  into  the  saddle,  without  the  hand  of  a  helper; 
and  when  there,  he  could  hold  himself  upright.  Habit  may  hav« 
^en  him  this  superiority  over  his  comrade;  for  Scarthe  was  an  old 
ioldier,  and  Stubbs  was  not 


TO  FORWARD — MABOH. 

The  carouse  sjf  the  preceding  night  had  commenced  at  the  riadsidi 
'tin — early  in  ene  evening. 

The  incident  that  had  there  occurred — ^not  of  the  most  comforting 
aature,  either  to  Scarthe  or  his  subaltern — ^had  stimulated  them  to 
continue  at  their  cups — only  transferring  the  scene  to  the  inns  of  Ujc- 
bridge.  '  A  stray  cavalier  or  two,  picked  up  in  the  tcwn,  had  furnished 
Ihem  with  the  right  sort  of  associates  for  a  midnight  frolic ;  and  it 
was  not  till  the  blue  light  of  mom  was  breaking  over  the  meadows  of 
Colne,  that  the  wearied  roisterers  staggered  over  the  old  bridge;  and 
returned  to  their  temporary  quarters. 

While  the  horses  of  the  troop  were  in  the  hands  of  the  farriers,  the 
two  oflBcers  had  passed  an  hour  or  two,  tossing  upon  a  brace  of  the 
best  beds  the  inn  afforded;  and  it  was  close  upon  twelve  at  noon  when 
Scarthe  awoke,  and  called  for  a  cup  of  burnt  sack  to  steady  his  nerves 
—quivering  after  the  night's  carouse. 

A  slight  breakfast  sufficed  for  both  captain  and  comet.  This  dwh 
patched,  they  had  ordered  the  troop  to  horse;  and  i^ere  about  to  con- 
tinue their  march. 

**  Comrades ! "  cried  Scarthe,  addressing  himself  to  his  followers, 
as  soon  as  he  felt  fairly  fixed  in  the  saddle.  "  We've  been  spending 
the  night  in  a  nest  of  rebels.  This  Uxbridge  is  a  town  of  traitors — 
Quakers,  Dissenters,  and  Puritans — alike  disloyal  knaves." 

**  They  are,  by  Gec-gec-ged  ? "  hiccuped  Stubbs,  trying  to  keep  him- 
self upright  on  his  horse. 

"  They  are ;  you  speak  true,  captain — they  all'er  you  say,"  chorus 
sed  several  of  the  troopers,  who  had  come  away  without  settling  their 
scores. 

"  Then  let  them  go  to  the  devil ! "  muttered  Scarthe,  becoming  alike 
regardless  of  Uxbridge  and  its  interests.  "  Let's  look  to  what's  be- 
fore. No — ^not  that.  First  what's  behind  us.  No  pretty  girls  in  the 
fain  here.  Ah !  that's  a  pity.  Never  mind  the  women,  so  long  as 
there's  wine.  Hillo,  old  Boniface !  Once  more  set  your  taps  a-flow- 
big.    What  will  you  drink,  vagabonds?     Beer?" 

"  Ay,  ay — anything  you  like,  noble  captain." 

"  Beer,  Boniface ;  and  for  me  more  sack.    What  say  you,  Stubbs  f  " 

"  Sack,  sa-a-ck ! "  stammerei  the  comet  "  Burnt  sa-a-ck.  Notli-' 
faig  like  it,  by  Ge-ged ! " 

"  Who  pays  ?  "  inquired  the  landlord,  evidently  under  some  appre- 
hension as  to  the  probability  of  this  ultimate  order  being  for  cash. 

"  Pays*  knaye ! "  shouted  Scarthe,  pulliug  a  gold  piece  fi-om  hit 


Tl 

do  ablet,  and  shying  it  in  the  landlord  *s  fkce.  "  Do  y>i«  take  whe  king'i 
euirassiers  for  highway  robbers  ?  The  wine — the  wine !  Quick  with 
It,  or  I'll  draw  your  corks  with  the  point  of  my  sword." 

With  the  numerous  staff,  which  an  inn  in  those  times  could  afford 
to  maintain ;  both  the  beer,  and  the  more  generous  beverage,  wert 
soon  within  reach  of  the  Ups  of  those  who  intended  to  partake  of  them 
The  national  drink  was  brought  first ;  but  out  of  deference  to  theb 
officers,  the  men  refrained  from  partaking  of  it,  till  the  sack  was  poured 
mto  their  cups. 

Scarthe  seized  the  goblet  presented  to  him;  and,  raising  it  aloft. 
called  out : — 

"The  King!" 

"  The  Kmg,  by  Ge-ged !  *  seconded  Stubbi. 

**  The  King — ^the  king ! "  vociferated  the  half  hundred  Toices  of  theif 
followers — ^the  bystanders  echoing  the  phrase  only  in  feint  murmur 
ing. 

"  Goblets  to  the  ground ! "  commanded  the  captain — at  the  same 
time  tossing  his  own  into  the  middle  of  the  road. 

The  action  was  imitated  by  every  man  in  the  troop — each  throwing 
away  his  empty  vessel,  till  the  pavement  was  thickly  strewn  with 
pots  of  shining  pewter. 

"  Forward — ma-r-ch !  "  cried  Scarthe,  giving  the  spur  to  his  char- 
ger ;  and  with  a  mad  captain  at  their  head,  and  a  maudlin  cornet  in 
the  rear,  the  cuirassiers  filed  out  from  the  inn;  and  took  the  road  in 
the  direction  of  Eed-hill. 

Despite  the  wine  within  him,  the  captain  of  the  cuirassiers  was,  at 
the  moment,  in  a  frame  of  mind  anything  but  contented.  One  of  his 
reasons  for  having  drunk  so  deeply,  was  to  drown  the  recollection- 
yet  rankling  in  his  bosom — of  the  insult  he  fancied  himself  to  have 
suffered  on  the  preceding  night;  and  which  he  further  fancied  to  have 
lowered  him  in  the  estimation  of  his  followers.  Indeed,  he  knew  this 
to  be  the  case;  for  as  he  rode  onward  at  the  head  of  his  troop,  hifi 
whole  thoughts  were  given  to  the  black  horseman ;  and  the  mode  by 
which  he  might  revenge  himself  on  that  mysterious  individual. 

Scarthe  was  on  the  way  to  country  quarters — near  which  he  had 
been  told,  the  black  horseman  had  his  home — and  he  comforted  him- 
self with  the  thought,  that  should  these  prove  dull,  he  would  find 
amusement  in  the  accomplishment  of  some  scheme^  by  which  his  yen* 
geanoe  might  be  Batisfie<i 


n  FORWARD— MAEOtf. 

Could  his  eye  at  that  moment  have  penetrated  the  screen  of  fblu^ 
rising  above  the  crest  of  Ked-hill,  he  might  have  seen  behind  it  the 
man  he  meant  to  injure— mounted  on  that  sable  steed  from  which  he 
derived  his  sobriquet.  He  might  have  seen  him  suddenly  wheel  back 
from  the  bushes^  and  gallop  off  in  the  direction  in  which  he  and  his 
euirassiers  were  marching — ^towards  Bulstrode  Park — ^the  residence 
of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade. 

Though  Scarthe  saw  not  this,  his  mid-day  march  was  not  performed 
without  his  meeting  with  an  incident — one  worth  recording,  even  for 
its  singularity ;  though  it  was  otherwise  of  significant  interest  to  the 
cuirassier  captain. 

In  front  of  a  dilapidated  hovel  upon  Jarret's  Heath,  both  he  and  his 
troop  were  brought  to  a  sudden  stand,  on  hearing  a  strange  noise 
which  appeared  to  proceed  from  the  ruin.  It  was  a  groan — or  rather 
a  series  of  groans — ^now  and  then  varied  by  a  sharp  scream. 

On  entering  the  hut,  the  cause  of  this  singular  fracas  was  at  once 
discovered :  a  man  lying  upon  the  floor — stripped  to  his  shirt,  and 
bound  hand  and  foot !  This  semi-nude  individual  informed  them,  that 
he  had  just  awakened  from  a  horrid  dream,  which  he  now  feared  was 
no  dream  but  a  reality !  He  proclaimed  himself  a  courier  of  the  king; 
bound  to  Bulstrode  Park,  with  a  despatch  for  Captain  Scarthe ;  but 
the  despatch  was  lost ;  with  everything  else  he  had  borne  on  hia 
body,  even  to  the  horse  that  had  borne  him  ! 

After  the  full  explanation  had  been  given,  Scarthe  *8  chagrin  at  the 
failure  of  the  king's  message  was  counterbalanced  by  the  amusement 
caused  by  the  misadventure  of  the  messenger ;  and  after  remounting 
the  unfortunate  man,  sending  him  whence  he  had  come,  he  continued 
hia  march,  making  the  wild  waste  of  Jarret's  Heath  rir  ^  with  a  loud 
•nd  loQg-oontinued  cachinnatioii. 


fid  ELA0K  H(r«SEMiLI7.  f^ 

OHAPTEE  XV. 

fHl  BLAOK  HOBSBMAVl 

fh»  great  clock  in  the  tower  of  Bulstrode  mansion  wM  tolling  th« 
kour  of  noon.  The  sports  were  in  full  progress^— both  actors  and 
spectators  at  the  maximum  of  enjoyment. 

Here  and  there,  a  knot  of  sturdy  yeomen  might  be  seen,  standing 
close  together — so  that  their  conversation  might  not  be  overheard — 
discussing  among  themselves  some  late  edict  of  royalty ;  and  gener- 
ally in  tones  of  condemnation. 

The  arbitrary  exactions',  of  which  one  and  all  of  them  had  of  late 
been  victims ;  the  tyrannous  modes  of  taxation — ^hitherto  unheard 
of  in  England — ship,  coat,  and  conduct  money — forced  loans  under  the 
farcical  title  of  benevolences;  and,  above  all,  the  billeting  of  profligate 
soldiers  in  private  houses — on  individuals,  who  by  some  slight  act  ot 
speech  had  given  offence  to  the  king,  or  some  of  his  satellites — these 
were  the  topics  of  the  time. 

Conjoined  with  these  gi-ievances  were  discussed  the  kindred  impo- 
sitions, and  persecutions  of  that  iniquitous  council,  the  Court  of  High 
Commission ;  which  for  cruel  zeal  rivaled  even  the  Inquisition — and 
the  infamous  Star  Chamber,  that  numbered  its  victims  by  thousands* 

These  truculent  tools  of  tyranny  had  been  for  ten  years  in  the  fuli 
performance  of  their  flagitious  work ;  but,  instead  of  crushing  out 
the  spirit  of  a  brave  people — ^which  was  their  real  aim  and  end— they 
had  only  been  preparing  it  for  a  more  determined  and  effective  resist- 
ance. 

The  trial  of  Hampden — ^the  favorite  of  Buckinghamshire — for  his 
daring  refusal  to  pay  the  arbitrary  impost  of  "ship  money,"  had 
met  with  the  approbation  of  all  honest  men ;  while  the  judges,  who 
condemned  him,  were  denounced  on  all  sides  as  worse  than  "un- 
just." 

To  its  eternal  glory  be  it  told,  nowhere  was  this  noble  spirit  more 
eminently  displayed  than  in  the  shire  of  Bucks — nowhere,  in  those 
days,  was  the  word  liberty  so  often,  or  so  emphatically,  pronounceu 
Shall  I  say,  alas,  the  change  ? 

Troe^  it  was  yet  spoken  only  in  whispers — ^low,  but  earnest — ^lik» 


t4  THiB  BLACK  HOBSfiMLiN. 

thunder  heard  afar  oflf  over  the  distant  horizon — ^heard  only  in  loi« 
mutterings;  but  ready,  at  any  moment»to  play  its  red  lightnings 
athwart  the  sky  of  despotism. 

Such  mutterings  might  have  been  heard  in  the  park  of  Sir  Marma^ 
duke  Wade.  In  the  midst  of  that  joyous  gathering,  signs  and  soimda 
of  a  serious  import  might  have  been  detected — ^intermingling  with 
■cenes  of  the  most  light-hearted  hilarity. 

It  may  be  wondered  why  those  sentiments  of  freedom  were  not 
more  openly  declared.  But  that  is  easy  of  explanation.  If  among 
the  assemblage  who  assisted  at  the  birthday  celebration,  there  were 
enemies  to  court  and  king;  there  were  also  many  who  were  not 
friends  to  the  cause  of  the  people.  In  the  crowd  which  occupied  the 
old  camp,  there  was  a  liberal  sprinkling  of  spies  and  informers — 
with  eyes  sharply  set  to  see,  and  ears  to  catch  ever  word  that  might 
be  tainted  with  treason.  No  man  knew  how  soon  he  might  be  made 
the  victim  of  a  denunciation — ^how  soon  he  might  stand  in  the  awe- 
inspiring  presence  of  the  "Chamber." 

No  wonder  that  men  expressed  their  sentiments  with  caution. 

Among  the  gentlemen  present  there  was  a  similar  difference  of 
opinion  upon  political  matters— even  among  members  of  the  same 
family !  But  such  topics  of  discussion  were  studiously  avoided,  as 
unbecoming  the  occasion ;  and  no  one,  carelessly  contemplating  the 
faces  of  the  fair  dames  and  gay  cavaliers  grouped  laughingly  to- 
gether, could  have  suspected  the  presence  of  any  sentiment  that 
sprang  not  from  the  most  contented  concordance. 

There  was  one  countenance  an  exception  to  this  general  look  ol 
contentment — one  individual  in  that  brilliant  throng  that  had  as  yet 
taken  no  pleasure  in  the  sports.    It  was  Marion  Wade. 

She,  whose  smile  was  esteemed  a  blessing  wherever  it  fell,  seemed 
herself  unblessed. 

Her  bosom  was  a  chaos  of  aching  unrest.  There  was  wanting  in 
that  concourse  one  whose  presence  could  have  given  it  peace. 

Ever  since  entering  the  enclosure  of  the  camp  had  the  eye  of  Mar- 
lon Wade  been  wandering  over  the  heads  of  the  assembled  specta- 
tors ;  over  the  fosse,  and  toward  the  gates  of  the  park — where  some 
late  guests  still  continued  to  straggle  in. 

Evidently  was  she  searching  for  that  she  failed  to  find;  for  her 
glance,  after  each  sweeping  tour  of  inquiry,  fell  back  upon  the  faceg 
around  her,  with  an  ill  concealed  expresion  of  disappointment. 

When  the  last  of  the  company  appeared  to  have  arrived,  the  expre* 
sioa  deepened  to  cbsgrin. 


7S 

H«r  retaiecxions,  had  they  been  attered  »loud,  would  nare  giren  • 
slue  to  the  disconter.t  betraying  itielf  on  her  countenance. 

"  He  oomes  not — he  wills  not  to  come !  Was  there  nothing  hi 
those  looks  ?  I've  been  mad  to  do  as  I  have  done.  And  what  will 
he  think  ol  me  ?  What  can  he  ?  He  took  up  my  glove — perhaps  a 
mere  freak  of  curiosity,  or  caprice — only  to  fling  it  down  again  m 
disdain  ?  Now  I  know  he  cares  not  to  come — else  would  he  havt 
been  here.  Walter  promised  to  introduce  him — to  me — to  me !  Oh ! 
there  was  no  lure  in  that.  He  knows  he  might  have  introduced  him- 
■elf.    Have  I  not  invited  him  ?     Oh  !  the  humiliation !  *' 

Despite  her  painful  reflections,  the  lady  tried  to  look  gay.  But  the 
effort  was  unsuccessful.  Among  those  standing  near  there  were 
some  who  did  not  fail  to  notice  her  wan  brow,  and  wandering  glance ; 
dames  envious  of  her  distinction — ^gallants,  who  for  one  smile  from  her 
proud,  pretty  lips  would  have  instantly  sacrificed  their  long  love- 
locks, and  plucked  from  their  hats  those  trivial  tokens,  they  had 
sworn  so  hypocritically  to  wear. 

There  was  only  one,  however,  who  could  guess  at  the  cause;  and 
that  one  could  only  guess  at  it.  Her  cousin  alone  had  any  suspicion, 
that  the  heart  of  Marion  was  wandering,  as  well  as  her  eyes.  A 
knowledge  of  this  fact  would  have  created  surprise — almost  wonder — 
in  the  circle  that  surrounded  her.  Marion  Wade  was  a  full  grown 
woman ;  had  been  so  for  more  than  a  year.  She  had  been  wooed 
by  many — ^by  some  worshiped  almost  to  idolatry.  Wealth  and  title^ 
youth  and  manhood,  lands  and  lordships,  had  been  laid  at  her  feet ; 
and  all  alike  rejected — not  with  the  proud  flourish  of  the  triumphant 
flirt  I  but  with  the  tranquil  dignity  of  a  true  woman,  who  can  only  be 
^ed  after  being  won. 

Among  the  many  aspirants  to  her  hand,  there  was  not  one  who 
could  tell  the  tale  of  conquest.  More  than  once  had  that  tale  been 
whispered ;  but  the  world  would  not  believe  it.  It  would  have  been  a 
proud  feat  for  the  man  who  could  achieve  it — ^too  proud  to  reman 
^proclaimed. 

And  yet  it  had  been  achieved ;  though  the  world  knew  it  not.  Shi 
alone  suspected  it,  whose  opportunities  had  been  far  beyond  those  o* 
the  world.  Her  cousin,  Lora  Lovelace,  had  not  failed  to  feel  surprised 
at  those  lonely  rides — ^lonely  from  choice — since  her  own  companion- 
ship had  been  repeatedly  declined.  Neither  had  she  failed  to  observe^ 
how  Marion  had  chafed  and  fretted,  at  the  command  of  Sir  Marma- 
4ukei  r^uiring  their  discontinuance.    There  were  other  circumataa 


7« 

ces  besides  the  lost  glove,  and  the  bleeding  wrist — the  fevered  sleef^ 
ftt  night,  and  the  dreamy  reveries  by  day.  How  could  Lora  shut  hef: 
©yes  to  signs  so  significiint  ? 

Lora  was  herself  in  love ;  and  could  interpret  them.  No  wondet 
that  she  should  suspect  that  her  cousin  was  in  a  hke  dilemma  ;  no 
wonder  she  should  feel  sure  that  Marion's  heart  had  been  given 
away;  though  when,  and  to  whom,  she  was  still  ignorant  as  any 
stranger  within  the  limits  of  the  camp. 

"  Marion  !  "  said  she,  drawing  near  to  her  cousin,  and  whispering 
io  as  not  to  be  overheard ;  "  you  are  not  happy  to-day  ?  " 

"  You  silly  child  !  what  makes  you  think  so  ^  ** 

"  How  can  I  help  it  ?    In  your  looks '* 

**  What  of  my  looks,  Lora  ?  *' 

"Dear  Marion,  don't  mind  me.  It's  because  I  dread  that  otheri 
may  notice  them.  There's  Winifred  Wayland  has  been  watching 
you ;  and,  more  still,  that  wicked  Dorothy  Dajrrell.  She  has  beeo 
keeping  her  eyes  on  you  like  a  cat  upon  a  mouse.  Cousin  !  do  try 
to  look  different ;  and  don't  give  them  something  to  talk  about :  for 
you  know  that's  just  what  that  Dorothy  Dayrell  would  desire." 

"  Look  different !     How  do  I  look  pray  ?  " 

**  Ah  !  I  needn't  tell  you  how.  You  know  how  you  feel ;  and  from 
that  you  may  tell  how  you  look." 

"  Ho !  sage  counselor,  you  must  explain.  What  is  it  in  my  ap 
pearance  that  has  struck  you  ?    Tell  me,  chit.*' 

"  You  want  me  to  be  candid,  Marion  ? " 

"I  do— I  do."  . 

The  answer  was  given  with  an  eagerness  that  left  Lora  no  wish  ta 
irithold  her  explanation. 

"  Marion,"  said  she,  placing  her  lips  close  to  the  ear  of  her  who 
was  alone  intended  to  hear  it,  "  you  are  in  love  1 " 

"  Nonsense,  Lor».  What  puta  such  a  thought  in  your  silly  littlf 
head?" 

"  No  nonsense,  Marion;  I  know  it  by  your  looks.  I  don't  know 
who  has  won  you,  dear  cousin.  I  only  know  he's  not  here  to-day 
You've  been  expecting  him.     He  hasn't  come.    Now !  " 

"You're  either  a  great  big  deceiver  or  a  great  little  conjuror,  Lora, 
In  which  of  these  categories  am  I  to  place  you.^  " 

"Not  in  the  former,  Marion ;  you  know  it.  Oh !  it  needs  no  con- 
junns'  for  me  to  tell  that.  But  pray  don't  let  it  be  so  easy  io^  otherf 
to  wad  jour  secret,  cousin  I    I  entreat  you-»«^" 


••^ou  are  welcome  to  your  suspicions,"  said  Marium,  interrupting 
her.  "  And  now  I  shall  relieve  you  from  tkem,  by  making  them  « 
certainty.  It  is  of  no  use  trying  any  longer  to  keep  that  a  secret, 
which  in  time  you  would  be  sure  to  discover  for  yourself — I  suppose. 
iam  in  love.  As  you've  said,  I'm  in  love  with  one  who  is  not  here. 
Why  should  I  feel  ashamed  to  tell  it  you  ?  Nay,  if  I  only  thought 
he  loved  me  as  I  do  him,  I'd  care  little  that  the  whole  company  knew 
it — and  much  less  either  Winifred  Wayland  or  Dorothy  Dayrell. 
Let  them » 

Just  then  the  voice  of  this  last-named  personage  was  heard  in  ani- 
mated conversation — interspersed  with  peals  of  laughter,  in  which 
A  large  party  was  joining. 

It  was  nothing  new  for  Dorothy  to  be  the  centre  of  a  circle  of 
laughing  listeners;  for  she  was  one  of  the  wits  of  the  time.  Her 
talk  might  not  have  terminated  the  dialogue  between  the  cousins,  but 
for  the  mention  of  a  name — ^to  Marion  Wade  of  all  absorbing  inter- 
est. 

Walter  had  Just  finished  relating  hia  adventure  of  the  preceding 
night. 

"  And  this  wonderful  cavalier,**  asked  Dorothy,  "  who  braved  the 
bullying  captain,  and  frightened  the  fierce  footpads— did  he  &Yor  you 
with  his  name,  Master  Wade?  '* 

"Oh,  yes !  **  answered  Walter,  " he  gave  me  that — Henry  Holt- 
•pur." 

"  Henry  Holtspur !  Henry  Holtspur !  **  cried  several  in  a  breath* 
as  if  the  name  was  not  new  to  them,  but  had  some  peculiar  significa-^ 
tion. 

"  It 's  the  cavalier  who  rides  the  black  horse,  '*  explained  one.  "  The 
*  black  horseman*  the  people  called  him.  One  lately  come  into  this 
neighborhood.  Lives  in  the  old  house  of  Stone  Deane.  Nobody 
knows  him.*' 

"  And  yet  everybody  appears  to  be  talking  of  him !  Mysterious 
Individual !  Some  troubadour  returned  from  the  East  ?  **  suggested 
Winifred  Wayland. 

"  Some  trader  from  the  West,  more  like,'*  remarked  Dorothy  Day-  - 
reU,  with  a  sneer,  "  whence,  I  presume,  he  has  imported  his  leveling 
sentiments;  and,  a  savage  for  his  servant,  too,  'tis  said.    Did  yousei 
aught  of  his  Inciian,  Master  Wade? " 

"  No,"  said  the  youth;  "and  very  little  of  himself :  as  our  ride  to- 
jfother  was  after  night.  But  I  have  hopes  gf  §eeing  mor«  of  him  t(^ 
4»j.    yXM  ^9vgmi  to  \»  her*.*' 


T8 

**  I  think  not.  I  haren't  yet  encountered  him.  'Ta  just  possibU 
he  may  be  among  the  crowd  over  yonder ;  or  somewhere  through  th« 
camp.    With  your  permission,  ladies,  I  shall  go  in  search  of  him." 

"  Oh,  do !  do  !  '*  •zdaimed  half  a  score  of  sweet  voices.  "  Bj  all 
means.  Master  Wade,  find  the  gentleman.  You  have  our  permission 
to  introduce  him.    Tell  him  we're  all  dying  to  make  his  acquaintance." 

Walter  went  off  among  the  crowd ;  traversed  the  camp  in  all  direc- 
tions ;  and  came  back  without  the  object  of  his  search. 

"  How  cruel  of  him  not  to  come !  "  remarked  the  gay  Dayrell,  at 
Walter  was  seen  returning  alone.  "  If  he  only  knew  the  disappoint- 
ment he  is  causing !  We  might  have  thought  less  of  it.  Master  Wade 
if  you  hadn't  told  ns  he  intended  to  be  here.  Now  I  for  one  shall 
fancy  your  fete  very  stupid  without  him.** 

**  He  may  still  come,**  suggested  Walter.  "  I  think  there  are  some 
other  guests  who  have  not  arrived.** 

"You  are  right,  Master  Wade,"  interposed  one  of  the  bystanders; 
**  yonder's  somebody — ^a  man  on  horseback — on  the  heath,  outside  the 
pilings  of  the  park.    He  appears  to  be  going  towards  the  gate.'* 

All  eyes  were  turned  in  the  direction  indicated.  A  horseman  was 
seen  upon  the  heath  outside,  about  a  hundred  yards  distant  from  the 
enclosure ;  but  he  was  not  going  towards  the  gaU. 

**  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  cried  Dorothy  Dayrell.  He's  changed  his  mind 
about  that.  See  !  he  heads  his  horse  at  the  palings.  Going  to  take 
them  ?  He  is,  in  troth !  High— over !  There's  a  leap  worth  look- 
ing at. 

And  the  fkir  speaker  clapped  her  pretty  hands  in  admiration  of  the 
feat. 

There  was  one  other  who  beheld  it  with  an  admiration ;  which, 
though  silent,  was  not  less  enthusiastic.  The  joy  that  had  shone 
sparkling  in  the  eyes  of  Marion  Wade,  as  soon  as  the  strange  horse- 
man appeared  in  sight,  was  now  heightened  to  an  expression  of  proud 
triumph. 

<<  Who  is  he  ?  **  asked  half  a  score  of  voices,  as  the  bold  horseman 
cleared  the  enclosure. 

^*  It  is  he — ^the  cavalier  we  have  just  been  speaking  of,"  answered 
Walter,  hurrying  away  to  receive  his  guest;  who  was  now  coming  on 
at  an  easy  gallop  towards  the  camp. 

"  The  black  horseman — the  black  horseman  !  **  was  the  cry  that  rose 
up  from  the  crowd ;  while  the  rustics  n^ed  up  to  ^  tpp  of  thf 
|sioat  to  ^Te  the  mw  QOmer  a  welcome. 


THE   SLACK  HOBSEMAIL  79 

•*  The  black  horseman  I  huzza  I  "  proclaimed  a  voicd  with  that  pe- 
culiar intonation  that  suggests  a  general  cheer — which  was  given ;  ai 
the  cavalier,  riding  into  their  midst,  drew  his  steed  to  a  stand. 

**  They  know  him,  at  least,"  remarked  the  fair  Dayrell,  with  a  tos4 
•f  her  aristocratic  head.  *'  How  popular  he  appears  to  bt !  Can  any 
tne  explain  it? " 

**  It's  always  the  way  with  new  people,"  said  a  sarcastic  gentleman 
who  stood  near,  '<  especially  when  they  make  their  dthat  a  httle  mys« 
teriously.    The  rustic  has  a  wonderful  relish  for  the  unknown." 

Marion  stood  silent.  Her  eyes  sparkled  vnth  pride,  on  beholding 
the  homage  paid  to  her  own  heart's  hero.  The  sneering  interrogato- 
ries of  Dorothy  Dayrell  she  answered  only  in  thought. 

**  Grand  and  noble !  "  was  her  reflection.  "  That  is  the  secret  of 
hia  popularity.  Ah !  the  instincts  of  the  people  rarely  err  in  their 
choice.    He  is  true  to  them.    No  wonder  they  greet  him  as  their  god  !^ 

For  Marion,  herself,  a  sweet  triumph  was  in  store. 

The  curiosity  of  the  crowd,  that  had  collected  on  the  arrival  of  tht 
black  horseman,  was  passing  away.  The  people  had  returned  to  their 
sports ;  or,  with  admiring  looks,  were  following  the  famous  steed  to 
his  stand  under  the  trees.  From  an  instinct  of  dehcacy,  peculiar  to 
the  country  people,  they  had  abandoned  the  cavaher  to  the  compan- 
ionship of  his  proper  host — ^who  was  now  conducting  him  towards 
the  promised  presentation. 

They  had  arrived  within  a  few  paces  of  the  spot  where  Marion  was 
standing.  Her  face  was  averted,  as  if  she  knew  not  who  was  advan- 
cing. But  her  heart  told  her  he  was  near.  So,  too,  the  whisperings 
of  those  who  stood  around.  She  dared  not  turn  towards  him.  She 
dreaded  to  encounter  his  eye,  lest  it  might  look  slightingly  upon  her 

That  studied  inattention  could  not  continue.  She  looked  towards 
kim  at  last.  Her  gaze  became  fixed-— not  upon  his  &ce,  but  upon 
an  object  which  appeared  conspicuous  upon  the  brow  of  his  beaver-*" 
a  white  gaimtlQt ! 

Joy  supreme !  Words  oould  not  have  spoken  plainer.  The  token 
had  been  taken  up;  and  treasured.    Love's  challenge  had  been  accept^ 

Mil 


THE  LOVE  TCEBN. 


CHAPTEn  XVL 


ffHB  LOTS  VOKBV 


A  glove,  a  ribbon,  •  lock  of  hair,  in  the  hat  of  a  gentleman, 
but  the  common  affectations  of  the  cavalier  times ;  and  only  pro* 
claimed  its  wearer  the  recipient  of  some  fair  lady's  favor.  There 
were  many  young  gallants  on  the  ground,  who  bore  such  adorn- 
ments ;  and  therefore  no  one  took  any  notice  of  the  token  in  the  hat 
of  Henry  Holtspur — excepting  those  for  whom  it  had  a  pecuhax  in- 
terest. 

There  were  two  who  felt  this  interest ;  though  from  different  mo- 
tives.  They  were  Marion  "Wade,  and  Lora  Lovelace.  Marion  iden- 
tified the  glove  with  a  thrill  of  joy;  and  yet  the  moment  after  she 
felt  fear.  Why?  She  feared  it  might  be  identified  by  others. 
Lora  saw  it  with  surprise.  Why  ?  Because  it  was  identified.  At 
the  first  glance  Lora  recognized  the  gauntlet;  and  knew  it  to  have  be- 
longed to  her  cousin. 

It  was  just  this,  that  the  latter  had  been  dreading.  She  feared 
flot  its  being  recognized  by  any  one  else — not  even  by  her  father. 
8he  knew  the  good  knight  had  more  important  matters  upon  his  mind' 
and  could  not  have  told  one  of  her  gloves  from  another.  But  far  dif 
ferent  was  it  with  her  cousin;  who,  having  a  more  intelligent  dis- 
crimination in  such  trifles,  would  be  likely,  just  then,  to  exercise  it* 
.  Marion's  fears  were  fulfilled.  She  perceived  from  Lora's  looks  that 
the  gauntlet — cruel  and  conspicuous  tell-tale — was  under  her  eye 
and  in  her  thoughts. 

"  It  is  yours,  Marion !  **  whispered  the  latter,  pointing  towards 
the  plumed  hat  of  the  cavalier;  and  looking  up,  with  an  air  more  af- 
firmative than  inquiring. 

<* Mine!  what, Lora?  Yonder  black  beaver  and  plumes?  What 
have  I  to  do  with  them  ?  *' 

*<Ah!  Marion,  you  mock  ma  Look  under  the  plumes?  What 
fee  you  there  ? " 

<<  Something  that  looks  like  a  lady's  glove.    Is  it  one  I  wonder  P 

«<  It  is,  Marion.'* 


81 

"So  it  is,  in  troth !  This  strange  gentleman  must  hare  a  mistress, 
Iten.    Who  would  have  thought  of  it  ?  * 

**  It  is  yours,  cousin." 

**  Mine  ?    My  glove  do  you  mean  ?    You  are  jesting,  little  Lora  ?  • 

*'It  is  you  who  jest,  Marion.  Did  you  not  tell  me  you  had  loat 
your  glove  ? " 

«*  I  did.    I  dropped  it.    I  must  have  dropped  it-HBomewhere." 

"Then  the  gentleman  must  have  picked  it  up!**  rejoined  Lora, 
with  significant  emphasis. 

" But,  dear  cousin;  do  you  really  think  yonder  gauntlet  la  mine  ? "^ 

"  0  Marion,  Marion !  you  know  it  is  yovara  I  ** 

Lora  spoke  half  upbraidingly. 

"  How  do  you  know  you  are  not  wronging  TDie  ?  "  rejoined  Marion, 
in  an  evasive  tone.  "  Let  tne  take  a  good  iook  at  it.  Aha !  My 
word,  Lora,  I  think  you  are  right.  It  does  appear,  as  if  it  were  my 
gauntlet — at  least  it  is  very  like  the  one  I  lost  the  other  day,  when 
out  a-hawking ;  and  for  the  want  of  which  my  poor  akin  got  so  badly 
scratched.    It's  wonderfully  like  my  glove ! " 

^  Yes;  so  like,  that  it  is  the  same." 

^If  so,  how  came  it  yonder? "  inquired  Marion»  with  an  air  of  ap- 
parent perplexity. 

"Ah,  how?  "  repeated  Lora. 

"  He  must  have  found  it  in  the  forest  ? 

**  It  is  very  impudent  of  him  to  be  wearing  it,  then .'  ** 

••  Very;  indeed  very." 

**  Suppose  any  one  should  recognize  it  as  yours  ?  Suppose  nnclt 
should  do  so  ? " 

"There  is  no  fear  of  that,"  interrupted  Marion.  **I  have  worn 
these  gloves  only  twice.  You  are  the  only  one  who  has  seen  them  on 
my  hands.    Father  does  not  know  them.    You  won't  tell  him,  Lora  ?" 

"Why  should  I  not?" 

"  Because — ^because — ^it  may  lead  to  trouble.  May  be  this  strango 
gentleman  has  no  idea  to  whom  the  glove  belonged.  He  has  picked  it 
up  by  the  roadside ;  anl  stuck  it  in  his  hat — out  of  caprice,  or  con- 
ceit. I've  heard  many  such  favors  are  born  with  no  better  authority. 
Let  him  keep  it,  and  wear  it — if  it  so  please  him.  I  care  not — so 
long  as  he  don't  know  whose  it  is.  Don't  you  say  anything  about 
it  to  any  one.  If  father  should  know,  or  Walter — ah !  Walter,  ycung 
as  he  is,  would  insist  upon  fighting  him ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  thai 
this  black  horseman  would  be  a  very  dangerous  antagonist." 


»2  THE   LOVE  TOKEW. 

*•  0  MarioD  ! "  cried  Lora,  alarmed  at  the  vtry  thought  of  such  i 
contingency.  "I  shall  not  mention  it — ^nor  you.  Do  not  for  th« 
world !  Let  him  keep  the  glove,  however  dishonorably  he  may  have 
Qome  by  it,  I  care  not,  dear  cousin — so  long  as  it  does  not  compromise 

''No fear  of  that,"  muttered  Marion,  in  •  confident  tone;  app»- 
fently  happy  at  having  so  easily  escaped  from  a  dilemma  she  had  beev 
dreading. 

The  whispered  conversation  of  the  cousins  was  at  this  moment  in- 
terrupted by  the  approach  of  Walter,  conducting  the  cavalier  into  tha 
nidst  of  the  distinguished  circle. 

The  youth  performed  his  office  o^f  introducer  with  true  courtly 
grace,  keeping  his  promise  to  all ;  and  m  a  few  seconds  Henry  Holt- 
spur  had  added  many  new  names  to  the  list  of  his  acquaintances. 

It  is  no  easy  part  to  play-^-and  play  gracefully — that  of  being  con* 
spicuously  presented ;  but  the  same  courage  that  had  distinguished 
the  eavalier  in  his  encounter  with  Garth,  and  his  footpads,  was  again 
exhibited  in  that  more  imposing — perhaps  more  dangerous — ^presence. 

The  battery  of  bright  ejes  seemed  but  little  to  embarrass  him ;  and 
he  returned  the  salutations  of  the  circle  with  that  modest  confidence 
which  is  a  sure  test  of  the  true  gentleman. 

It  was  only  when  being  presented  to  the  last  individual  of  the  grouf 
— strange  that  Marion  Wade  should  be  the  last — ^it  was  only  then, 
that  aught  might  have  been  observed  beyond  the  ceremonious  formali- 
ty of  an  introduction.  Then,  however,  a  close  observer  might  have 
detected  an  interchange  of  glances  that  expressed  something  more  than 
courtesy;  though  so  quickly  and  stealthily  given,  as  to  escape  the 
observation  of  all.  No  one  seemed  to  suspect  that  Marion  Wade  and 
Henry  Holtspur  had  ever  met  before ;  and  yet  ofttimes  had  they  met — 
efttimes  looked  into  each  other's  eyes — had  done  everything  but  speak  • 

How  Marion  had  longed  to  listen  to  that  voice,  that  now  uttered  in 
soft,  earnest  tones,  sounded  in  her  ears,  like  some  sweet  music ! 

And  yet  it  spoke  not  in  the  language  of  love.  There  was  no  oppor- 
tunity for  this.  They  were  surrounded  by  watehful  eyes ;  and  ears 
eagerly  bent  to  catch  every  word  passing  between  them.  Not  a  sen- 
timenx  of  that  tender  passion,  which  both  were  eager  to  ponr  forth — 
not  a  syllable  of  it  could  be  e:(|changed. 

Under  such  constramt,  the  converse  of  lovers  is  fkr  from  pleasant 
It  even  becomes  irksome;  and  scarce  did  either  regret  the  occurrenot 
ot  an  incident,  which,  at  that  moment,  engaging  the  attention  of  thf 
frowd  ralieved  them  pf  their  ^lut  :ial  embarrassment. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


MOBBIS  DAVOBBS. 


Th«  incident,  thiu  opportunely  interfering,  was  the  Brriyal  xipoa 
the  ground  of  a  party  of  morris  dancers  who,  having  finished  their  re- 
hearsal outside  the  limits  of  the  camp,  now  entered,  and  commenced 
their  performance  in  front  of  the  elevated  moat — ^upon  which  Sir  Mar- 
maduke  and  his  friends  had  placed  themselves,  in  order  to  ohtain  B 
▼iew  of  the  spectacle. 

The  dancers  were  of  hoth  sexes— maidens  and  men— the  former 
dressed  in  gay  hodice  and  kirtle ;  the  latter  in  their  shirt  sleeves,  clean 
washed  for  the  occasion — ^their  arms  and  limhs  handed  with  hright 
rihhons;  hells  suspended  from  their  garters;  and  other  adommenti 
in  true  Morisco  fashion. 

There  were  some  among  them  wearing  character  dresses :  one  repre- 
senting the  hold  outlaw  Robin  Hood ;  another  his  trusty  lieutenant,. 
Little  John;  a  third  the  jolly  Friar  Tuck,  and  so  forth. 

There  were  several  of  the  girls  also  in  character  costumes.  ^'Maid 
Marian,"  the  **  Queen  of  the  May/'  and  other  popular  personages  of 
the  rural  fancy,  were  personified 

The  morris  dancers  soon  became  the  centre  of  general  attraction. 
The  humbler  guests  of  Sir  Marmaduke— having  partaken  of  the  cheer 
which  he  had  so  hberally  provided  for  them — had  returned  into  tht 
camp;  and  now  stood  clustered  around  the  group  of  Terpsichoreana 
with  faces  expressing  the  Hveliest  delight. 

Balloons,  bowls,  wrestling,  and  single-stick  were  for  the  time  for- 
saken; for  the  morris  dance  was  tacitly  understood,  and  expected,  to 
be  the  chief  attraction  of  the  day. 

It  is  true,  that  only  peasant  girls  were  engaged  in  it,  but  among 
these  was  more  than  one  remarkable  for  a  fine  figure  and  comely  face 
— qualities  by  no  means  rare  in  the  cottage  homes  of  the  Chiltems. 

Two  were  especially  signalized  for  their  good  looks — the  represen- 
tatives of  Maid  Marian  and  the  Queen  of  the  May — the  former  a  dark 
brunette  of  the  gipsy  type — ^while  the  Queen  was  a  contrasting  blond% 
with  hazel  eyes,  and  hair  of  fiaxen  hue. 


84 

Many  a  young  pe&sant  •mong  their  partners  in  the  danc« — and  aV 
?o  in  the  circle  of  spectators — watched  the  movements  of  these  rustit 
belles  with  interested  eyes.  Ay,  and  more  than  one  cayalier  might 
have  been  ohserved  casting  sly  glances  towards  Maid  Marian,  and  th« 
Queen  of  the  May. 

While  those  were  bestowing  their  praises  upon  the  peasant  girls,  in 
•tereotyped  phrases  of  gallantry,  some  of  the  stately  dames  standing 
around,  might  have  found  cause  to  he  jealous;  and  some  wen  bo. 

Was  Marion  Wade  among  the  number  ? 

Alas !  it  was  even  so.  New  as  the  feeling  was,  and  shght  the  in- 
cident that  called  it  forth,  that  fell  passion  had  sprung  up  within  her 
heart.  It  was  the  first  time  it  had  been  touched  with  such  a  sting; 
for  it  was  her  first  love,  and  too  recent  to  have  met  with  a  reverse* 
A  pang  never  felt  before,  she  scarce  comprehended  its  nature.  She 
only  knew  its  cause. 

Holtspur  was  standing  in  the  front  rank  of  spectators — almost  close 
to  tho  ring  in  which  the  morris  dancers  were  moving.  As  the  beauti- 
ful Bet  Dancey — ^who  represented  Maid  Marian — went  whirling  vol- 
uptuously through  the  figures  of  the  dance,  her  dark  gipsy  eyes, 
gleaming  with  amorous  excitement,  seemed  constantly  turned  upon 
him.  Marion  Wade  could  not  fail  to  observe  the  glance ;  for  it  was 
recklessly  given.  It  was  not  this,  however,  that  caused  that  pain  to 
spring  up  within  her  bosom.  The  forest  maiden  might  have  gazed  all 
day  long  upon  the  fiu»  of  Henry  Holtspur,  without  exciting  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  lady — had  her  gaze  failed  to  elicit  a  return.  But  once 
as  the  latter  turned  quickly  towards  him,  she  fancied  she  saw  the 
glance  of  the  girl  given  back,  and  the  passionate  thought  reciprocated ! 

A  peculiar  pang,  never  felt  before,  like  some  poisoned  dart,  pierced 
to  the  very  core  of  her  heart — almost  causing  her  to  cry  out.  In  the 
rustic  belle  she  recognized  a  rival ! 

The  pain  was  not  the  less  poignant,  from  its  being  her  first 
« Kperience  of  it.  On  the  contrary,  it  was,  perhaps,  more  so ;  and 
from  that  moment  Marion  Wade  stood,  cowed  and  cowering,  with 
blanched  brow — ^her  blue  eye  steadily  fixed  upon  the  countenance  of 
Henry  Holtspur — watching  with  keen  anxiety  every  movement  of 
his  features. 

The  dark  doubt  that  had  arisen  in  her  mind  was  not  to  be  resolved 
in  that  hour.  Scarce  had  she  entered  upon  her  anxious  surveillanc€ 
when  an  incident  arose,  causing  the  morris  dance  to  be  suddenly 
interrupted. 


8ft 

Amidct  the  shouts,  laughter,  and  cheering  that  accompanied  tht 
ipectacle,  only  a  few  who  had  strayed  outside  the  enclosure  of  the 
eamp  caught  the  first  whisperings  of  a  strange,  and,  to  them,  inex- 
plicable sound.  It  appeared  to  proceed  from  some  part  of  the  road — 
outside  the  main  entrance  of  the  camp,  and  resembled  a  continued 
tinkling  of  steel  implements,  mingled  with  the  hoof-strokes  of  a 
multitude  of  horses — ^not  going  at  will,  but  ridden  with  that  cadenced 
■tep  that  betokens  the  passage  of  a  squadron  of  cavalry. 

They  who  first  heard  it  had  scarce  time  to  make  this  observation, 
much  less  to  communicate  their  thoughts  to  the  people  inside  tht 
camp,  when  another  sound  reached  their  ears — equally  significant  of 
the  movement  of  mounted  men.  It  was  the  call  of  a  cavalry  bugle 
commanding  the  "  Halt." 

At  the  same  instant  the  hoofnstrokes  ceased  to  be  heard;  and,  as 
the  last  notes  of  the  bugle  died  away  in  the  distant  woods,  there  was 
an  interim  of  profound  silence,  broken  only  by  the  soft  cooing  of  thi 
woodquest,  or  the  shriller  piping  of  the  thrush. 

Equally  within  the  camp  was  the  silence  complete.  Thd  cheers 
had  been  checked,  and  the  laughter  subdued,  at  that  unusual  sound. 
The  ears  of  all  were  bent  to  listen  for  its  repetition,  while  all  eyes 
were  turned  in  the  direction  whence  it  appeared  to  have  proceeded. 

There  was  something  ominous  in  the  sudden  interruption  of  the 
sports,  by  a  sound  unexpected  as  it  was  ill  understood ;  and  some 
faces,  but  the  moment  before  beaming  with  joy,  assumed  a  serious 
aspect. 

"Soldiers!  **  exclaimed  several  voices  in  the  same  breath;  whilt 
the  crowd,  forsaking  the  spectacle  of  the  morris  dance,  rushed  up  to 
the  top  of  the  moat  and  stood  listening  as  before. 

Once  more  came  the  clear  tones  of  the  cavalry  trumpet,  this  time 
directing  the  "  Forward;  "  and  before  the  signal  had  ceased  to  echo 
over  the  undulations  of  the  park,  the  files  of  a  squadron  of  cuirassiers 
were  seen  passing  between  the  massive  piers  of  the  main  entrance, 
and  advancing  along  the  drive  that  led  toward  the  mansion. 

File  followed  file  in  regular  order — each  horseman,  as  he  debouched 
from  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  appearing  to  become  a-blaze 
through  the  sudden  flashing  of  the  sunbeams  upon  the  plates  of  his 
polished  armor. 

As  the  troop,  riding  by  twos,  had  half  advanced  into  the  open 
ground,  and  still  continued  advancing,  it  presented  the  appearance  ol 
some  gigantic  snake  gliding  through  the  gateway — the  steel  armor 


representing  its  scales,  and  the  glittering  files  meweriiig  to  iln 
vertabiae  of  the  reptile. 

When  all  had  ridden  inside  and  commencied  winding  up  the  slopi 
that  conducted  to  the  dwelling,  still  more  perfect  was  this  resemblanoe 
to  some  huge  serpent — beautiful  but  dangerous — crawling  slowly  on 
to  the  destruction  of  its  victim. 

"  Tht  cuirassiers  of  the  king" 

There  were  many  in  the  camp  who  needed  not  this  announeement 
to  make  known  to  them  the  character  of  the  new  comers.  The 
eoirass  coyering  the  buff  doublet — the  steel  cap  and  gorget — ^the 
euisses  on  the  thighs — the  pauldrons  protecting  the  shoulders — ^the 
rear  and  yam-braces  on  the  arms — all  marked  the  mailed  costmne  of 
the  cuirassier;  while  the  royal  colors,  carried  in  front  by  the  comet 
of  the  troop,  proclaimed  them  th.e  cuirassiers  of  the  king. 

By  the  side  of  this  officer  rode  another,  whose  elegant  equipments 
md  splendidly  caparisoned  horse  announced  him  to  be  the  officer  in 
oommand — ^the  captain. 

**  The  cuirassiers  of  the  king !  **  What  wanted  they  in  the  park 
of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  ?  Or  what  was  their  business  at  his  man- 
ibn ;  for  thither  were  they  directing  their  march. 

This  question  was  put  by  more  than  one  pair  of  lips,  but  by  none 
less  capable  of  answering  it  than  those  of  Sir  Marmaduke  himself. 

The  spectacle  of  the  morris  dance  had  been  altogether  abandoned. 
Both  actors  and  spectators  had  rushed  promiscuously  towards  the 
moat — on  that  side  fronting  the  park — and  having  taken  stand  upoB 
its  crest,  were  uttering  exclamations  of  astonishment,  or  exchanging 
interogatories  about  this  new  interlude  not  mentioned  in  the  pro* 
gramme  of  the  entertainments. 

At  this  moment  the  bugle  once  more  brayed  out  the  "Halt,*'  and 
in  obedience  to  the  signal  the  cuirassiers  again  reined  up. 

As  b^  this  the  head  of  the  troop  had  arrived  opposite  to  the  old 
camp,  and  was  at  no  great  distance  from  it,  some  words  that  passed 
between  the  two  officers  could  be  heard  distinctly  by  the  people 
standing  upon  the  moat. 

"  I  say,  Stubbs,"  called  out  the  captain,  spurring  a  length  or  two 
out  from  the  troop  and  pointing  towards  the  camp,  "  What  are  those 
rustics  doing  up  yonder  ?    Can  you  guess  ?  *' 

"Haven't  the  most  distant  idea."  answered  the  individual  ad- 
dressed. 

"They  appear  to  be  in  their  holiday  toggery — best  bibs  and 
tuckers.    Is't  a  Whitsun-ale  or  a  May-making  ?  " 


THE  MORRIB  DANGERS.  87 

••Can't  be  either,"  rejoined  Stubbs.    ••  IsnH  thft  Beasoa     No,  bj 

"  67  the  smoke  of  Venus  I  there  appear  to  be  some  prettj  pettiooali 
Mttong  them.    Mayn't  be  such  dull  quarters  after  all,*' 

**No,  by  Qed  I    Anything  but  dull,  I  should  say.** 

••Ride  within  speaking  distance,  and  ask  them  what  the  devil  they 
ftre  doing." 

The  comet,  thus  commanded,  clapped  spurs  to  his  horse;  and 
after  galloping  within  fifty  paces  of  the  fosse,  pulled  up. 

•*  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  ? "  cried  he,  literally  delirering  the 
order  with  which  he  had  been  entrusted. 

Of  course  to  such  a  rude  interrogatory,  neither  Sir  Marmaduke  nor 
any  of  those  standing  around  him  vouchsafed  response.  Some  of 
the  common  people  in  the  crowd,  however,  called  out — ^"^  We're 
merry-making.    It's  a  fete — a  birthday  celebration." 

**  Oh !  that's  it,"  muttered  the  cornet,  turning  and  riding  back  to 
eommunicate  the  intelligence  to  his  superior  officer. 

''  Let's  go  up  and  make  their  acquaintance,"  said  the  latter,  ai 
Stubbs  delivered  his  report.  "We  shall  reconnoitre  the  rustic 
beauties  of  Bucks,  giving  them  the  advantage  of  their  holiday 
habiliments.    What  say  you,  Stubbs  ?  " 

"  Agreeable,"  was  the  laconic  reply  of  the  comet. 

"Jfllons  !  as  they  say  in  France.  We  may  find  something  up 
there  worth  climbing  the  hill  for.  As  they  also  say  in  France,  nou$ 
verrons ! " 

Ordering  the  troopers  to  dismount  Jind  stand  by  their  horses — 
their  own  being  given  to  a  brace  of  grooms — ^the  two  officers,  in  full 
armor  as  they  were,  conunenced  ascending  the  slope  that  led  to  tli^ 
Saxon  eneanipment. 


OHAPTEB  XVllL 


tn  psFLuraa 


'*So,  gi^d  people! '*  said  Scarthe,  as  soon  as  }ia  and  hii  oompanioi 
had  entered  within  the  enclosure,  "  holding  holiday,  are  you  ?  An 
admirable  idea  in  such  fine  weather — with  the  azure  sky  over  your 
heads,  and  the  green  trees  before  your  faces.  Pray  don't  let  us 
interrupt  your  Arcadian  enjoyment.  Go  on  with  the  sports  !  I  hope 
you  have  no  objection  to  our  becoming  spectators  ?  *' 

"No,  no!"  cried  several  voices  in  response,  "you  are  welcome, 
•irs,  you  are  welcome.*' 

Having  thus  spoken  their  permission,  the  people  once  more  dis- 
persed over  the  ground;  while  the  two  officers,  arm  in  arm, 
commenced  strolling  through  the  encampment — followed  by  a  crowd 
of  the  lower  class  of  peasants,  who  continued  to  gratify  their  curi- 
osity by  gazing  upon  the  steel-clad  strangers. 

Sir  Marmaduke  and  his  friends  had  returned  to  their  former  stand 
upon  the  elevated  crest  of  the  moat,  and  at  some  distance  from  the 
causeway  where  the  two  officers  had  entered.  The  latter  saunteringly 
proceeded  in  that  direction,  freely  flinging  their  jests  among  the 
crowd  who  accompanied  them,  and  now  and  then  exchanging  phrases 
of  no  very  gentle  meaning  with  such  of  the  peasant  girls  as  chanced 
to  stray  across  their  path. 

The  host  of  the  fite  had  resolved  not  to  ofier  the  intruders  a  singlt 
word  of  welcome.  The  rude  demand  made  by  the  cornet,  coupled 
with  the  coarse  dialogue  between  the  two  officers — ^part  of  which  h« 
had  overheard,  had  determined  Sir  Marmaduke  to  take  no  notice  of 
them  until  they  should  of  themselves  declare  their  errand. 

He  had  ordered  the  morris  dance  to  be  resumed.  In  front  o! 
where  he  stood  the  dancers  had  re-formed  their  figures,  and  with 
streaming  ribbons  and  ringing  brlls  were  again  tripping  it  over  the 
turf. 

"By  the  toes  of  Terpsichore,  a  morris  dance,"  exclaimed  the 
captain  of  cuirassiers,  as  he  came  near  enough  to  recognize  the  cos* 
iome  and  measozv.    "  An  age  since  I  have  seen  one.'* 


THK   DEFIANCE.  80 

"Never  saw  one  in  my  life/'  rejoined  Stubbs,  "•xcr.pt  on  tha 
itage.     Is  it  the  same  ?  '* 

No  doubt  Stubbs  spoke  the  truth.  He  had  been  bom  in  the  ward 
of  Cheap,  and  brought  up  within  the  soimd  of  Bow-bells. 

"Not  quite  the  same,"  drawled  the  captain,  "though  something 
like, — if  I  remember  aright.  Let's  forward  and  haye  %  squint  at 
It." 

Hastening  their  steps  a  little,  the  two  officers  soon  arrived  on  the 
edge  of  the  circle ;  and  without  taking  any  notice  of  the  "  people  of 
quality,"  who  were  stationed  upon  the  platform  above,  they  com- 
menced flinging  free  jibes  among  the  dancers. 

Some  of  these  made  answer  with  spirit,  especially  Little  John  and 
the  Jolly  Friar,  who  chanced  to  be  fellows  of  a  witty  turn,  and  who, 
in  their  own  rude  fashion,  gave  back  to  the  two  intruders  full  value 
for  what  they  received. 

Bold  Robin — who  appeared  rather  a  surly  representative  of  Sher- 
frood'B  hero — bore  their  sallies  with  an  indifferent  grace,  more 
aspecially  on  perceiving  that  the  eye  of  the  cuirassier  captain  became 
lit  up  with  a  peculiar  fire  while  following  Maid  Marian  through  the 
mazes  of  the  dance. 

But  the  heart  of  the  pseudo  outlaw  was  destined  to  be  further 
wrung.  A  climax  was  at  hand.  As  Marian  came  to  the  close  of  one 
of  her  grandest  pas,  the  movement  had  inadvertently  brought  her 
close  to  the  spot  where  the  cuirassier  captain  was  standing. 

"Bravo !  beautiful  Marian,"  cried  the  latter,  bending  towards  her, 
and  clasping  her  rudely  around  the  waist.  "  Allow  a  thirsty  soldier 
to  drink  nectar  from  those  juicy  lips  of  thine." 

And  without  finishing  the  speech,  or  waiting  for  her  consent — 
which  he  knew  would  be  refused — he  protruded  his  lips  through  the 
fisor  of  his  helmet  till  they  came  in  contact  vith  those  of  the  girl. 

A  blow  from  a  clenched  feminine  fist,  received  right  in  his  face, 
neither  disconcerted  nor  angered  the  daring  hbertine,  who  answered 
it  by  a  loud  reckless  laugh,  in  which  he  was  joined  by  his  cornet  and 
chorused  by  some  of  the  less  sentimental  of  the  spectators. 

There  were  others  who  did  not  seem  inchned  to  treat  the  affair  in 
this  jocular  fashion. 

Cries  of  "Shame!  "  « Pitch  into  him !  "  "Gie  it  him,  Robin!" 
were  heard  among  the  crowd,  and  angry  faces  could  be  seen  mingled 
with  the  merry  ones. 

The  idol  of  England's  peasantry  needed  not  such  stimulus  to  stir 
him  to  action.    Stui?g  by  jeaiocsy  acjd  the  insult  offered  to  hif 


iweetheart,  he  sprang  forward,  and  raising  hig  crossbow— tlie  omj 
weapon  he  carried — high  overhead,  he  brought  it  down  with  « 
*' thwack''  upon  the  hehnet  of  the  cuirassier  captain,  which  caused 
the  officer  to  stagger  some  paces  backward  ere  he  could  recoTtr 
himself. 

"  Take  that,  dang  thee ! "  shouted  Robb,  18  he  delivered  the  blow, 
••  Take  that ;  an'  keep  thy  scurvy  kisses  to  thyself." 

"  Low-bom  peasant ! "  cried  the  cuirassier,  his  face  turning  purple 
as  he  spoke,  *'  if  thou  wert  worth  a  sword,  I'd  spit  thee  Uke  a  red 
herring.  Keep  off,  churl,  or  I  may  be  tempted  to  take  thy 
life  !" 

As  he  uttered  this  conditional  threat,  he  drew  his  sword  and  stood 
with  the  blade  pointing  towards  the  breast  of  bold  Robin. 

There  was  an  interval  of  profound  silence.  It  was  terminated  by 
A  voice  among  the  crowd  crying  out, — "Yonder  comes  the  man 
that'll  punish  him !" 

All  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  elevated  platform,  on  which 
stood  the  ''people  of  quality."  There  was  a  commotion  among  the 
cavaliers.  One,  who  had  separated  from  among  the  rest,  was  seen 
hurrying  down  the  sloping  side  of  the  moat,  and  making  direct  for 
the  scene  of  the  contention. 

He  had  only  a  dozen  steps  to  go ;  and  before  either  the  pseudo 
outlaw  of  Sherwood  forest  or  his  mailed  adversary  could  change  their 
relative  positions,  he  had  glided  in  between  them. 

The  first  intimation  the  cuirassier  had  of  a  true  antagonist  was, 
when  a  bright  sword-blade  rasped  against  his  own,  striking  sparks 
of  fire  from  the  steel;  and  he  beheld  in  front  of  him  no  longer  a 
'' low-born  peasant,"  clad  in  Kendal  green,  but  a  cavalier  in  laced 
loublet,  elegantly  attired  as  himself,  and  equally  as  determined. 

This  new  climax  silenced  the  spectators  as  suddenly  as  if  the 
i^and  of  an  enchanter  had  turned  them  into  stone;  and  ic  was  not 
till  after  some  seconds  had  elapsed  that  murmurs  of  applause  rose 
round  the  ring,  coupled  with  that  popular  cry,  **  Huzza  for  the  black 
horseman ! " 

For  a  moment  the  captain  of  cuirassiers  seemed  awed  into  silence. 
Only  for  a  moment ;  and  only  by  the  suddenness  of  the  encounter 
Swaggerer  as  he  may  have  been,  Scarthe  was  r>o  coward ;  and  under 
the  circumstances  even  a  coward  must  have  shown  courage.  Though 
still  under  the  influence  of  a  partial  intoxication,  he  knew  that  bright 
eyes  were  upon  him;  he  knew  iuat  high<-bom  dames  were  standing 


THE   DEFIANCE.  fl 

iritliin  ten  paces  of  the  spot ;  and  though  hitherto,  for  reasons  of  hit 
6wn,  pretending  to  ignore  their  presence,  he  knew  they  had  heen 
spectators  of  all  that  had  passed.  He  had  no  intentions,  therefore, 
of  showing  the  white  feather. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  individual  who  had  thus  presented  himself,  as 
much  as  his  sudden  appearance,  that  held  him  for  the  moment 
■peechless ;  for  in  the  antagonist  hefore  him,  Scarthe  recognized  th« 
nvalier  who,  in  front  of  the  roadside  inn,  had  daringly  drunk — 
"  To  THB  Pkoplb  !  " 

The  BOUTenir  of  this  insult,  added  to  this  new  defiance,  furnished 
m  doable  stimulus  to  his  resentment — ^which  at  length  found  expres- 
sion in  words. 

"  You  it  is,  disloyal  knave  ?    You !  ** 

**  Disloyal  or  not,"  calmly  returned  the  cayalier,  *'I  demand 
reparation  for  the  slight  you  have  offered  to  this  respectable  assem- 
blage. Your  free  fashions  may  do  for  Flanders — ^where  I  presume 
yonVe  been  practicing  them — hut  I  must  teach  you  to  salute  the  fair 
maidens  of  England  in  a  different  style.'' 

**And  who  are  you,  who  propose  to  give  the  lesson.** 

"  No  low-bom  peasant.  Captain  Richard  Scarthe.  Don't  fancy  yon 
can  screen  yourself  behind  that  coward's  cloak.  You  must  fight,  or 
apologize ! " 

''Apologize!'*  shouted  the  soldier,  in  a  fhrious  voice,  ''Captain 
Bcarthe  apologize !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Hear  that.  Comet  Stubbs  ?  Did 
you  ever  know  mi  to  apologize  ?  '* 

"  Never,  by  Ged !  "  muttered  Stubbs,  in  reply. 

*' As  you  will  then,"  said  the  cavaher,  placing  himself  in  an  attitude 
lo  eommence  the  combat. 

'•No,  no !  •*  cried  Maid  Marian,  throwing  herself  in  front  of  Holt- 
spur,  as  if  to  screen  his  body  with  her  own.  "  You  must  not,  sir. 
It  is  not  fair.    He  is  in  armor,  and  you,  sir " 

"No — ^it  am  t  fair  !  "  proclaimed  several  voices;  while  at  the  same 
moment  a  large  fierce-looking  man,  with  bushy  black  beard,  was 
)een  pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd  towards  the  spot  occupied 
by  the  adversaries. 

"*Twoan't  do.  Master  Henry,'*  cried  the  bearded  man,  as  he 
eame  up.  "  You  mustn't  risk  it  that  way.  I  know  ye're  game  for 
any  man  on  the  groun',  or  in  England  eyther;  but  it  am't  fair.  Tht 
soger  captain  must  peel  off  them  steel  plates  o*  his,  and  let  the  fighl 
U  a  fair'n'.    WhaX  say  ye,  meeate  ? " 


M  THE  DEFIAITOB. 

This  appeal  to  the  bystanders  was  answered  by  cries  of  '^  Fail 
play,  fair  play !     The  officer  must  take  off  his  armor." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Walter  Wade,  at  this  moment  coming  up.  "  li 
these  gentlemen  are  to  fight,  the  conditions  must  be  equal.  Oi 
ooiwse.  Captain  Scarthe,  you  will  not  object  to  that  ?  ** 

"I  desire  no  advantage,"  rejoined  the  cuirassier  captain.  '^H* 
may  do  as  he  likes ;  but  I  sh^  not  lay  aside  n^y  armor  an  any 
account." 

"  Then  your  antagonist  must  arm  also,"  suggested  one  of  the 
gentlemen  who  had  accompanied  Walter.  "  The  combat  cannot  go 
on  till  that  be  arranged." 

''No,  no!"  chimed  in  several  voices,  "both  should  bo  armed 
alike." 

"Perhaps  this  gentleman,"  said  one,  pointing  to  the  cornet,  "will 
have  no  objection  to  lend  his  for  the  occasion  ?  That  would  sunplify 
matters.    It  appears  to  be  about  the  right  size." 

Stubbs  looked  towards  his  captain,  as  much  as  to  say,  **  Shall  I 
refuse  ? " 

"  Let  him  have  it,"  said  Scarthe,  seeing  that  the  proposal  could 
not  well  be  declined. 

"  He's  welcome  to  it !  "  said  the  comet,  who  instantly  commenced 
unbuckling. 

There  were  hands  enough  to  assist  Henry  Holtspur  in  putting  on 
the  defensive  harness,  and  in  a  few  minutes  time  he  was  encased  in 
the  steel  accoutrements  of  the  cornet — cuirass  and  gorget,  pauldrons, 
cuisses  and  braces — all  of  which  fortunately  fitted  as  if  they  had 
been  made  for  him. 

The  helmet  still  remained  in  the  hand  of  one  of  the  attendants, 
who  made  a  motion  towards  placing  it  upon  Holtspur's  head. 

'*  No,"  said  the  latter,  pushing  it  away.  "  I  prefer  wearing  mjf 
beaver."  Then  pointing  to  the  trophy  set  above  its  brim,  he  added : 
"It  carries  that  which  will  sufficiently  protect  my  head.  An  Eng- 
lish maiden  has  been  insulted,  and  under  the  glove  of  an  £ngUsh 
maiden  shall  the  insult  be  rebuked." 

"  Don't  be  so  confident  in  the  virtue  of  your  pretty  trophy,** 
rejoined  Scarthe,  with  a  sarcastic  sneer.  "  Ere  long  I  shall  takf 
that  glove  from  your  hat,  and  stick  it  in  the  crest  of  my  helmet. 
No  doubt  I  shall  then  hare  oome  by  it  moro  honestly  than  you  hmn 
ione," 


THE   DEFIANCE.  ^3 

rime  enough  to  talk  of  wearing,  when  you  have  won  it ; " 
quietly  retorted  the  cavalier.  "  Though,  by  my  troth,"  added  he^ 
returning  sneer  for  sneer,  "  you  should  strive  hard  to  obtain  it ;  you 
•tand  in  nee4  of  a  trophy  to  neutraUze  the  loss  of  your  spurs,  left 
behind  you  in  the  ford  of  Newburn." 

The  "Ford  of  Newbum  "  was  Scarthe's  especial  fiend.  He  wai 
one  of  that  five  thousand  horsemen,  who  under  Conway  had  ignomi- 
niously  retreated  from  the  Tyne — spreading  such  a  panic  throughout 
the  whole  English  army,  as  to  carry  it  without  stop  or  stay  far  into 
the  heart  of  Yorkshire.  Once  before  had  Holtspur  fluwg  the  dTsgrace- 
ful  souvenir  in  his  teeth;  and  now  to  be  a  second  time  reproached 
with  it,  before  a  crowd  of  his  countr3^en,  before  his  own  followers 
— many  of  whom  had  by  this  time  entered  within  the  camp — but, 
above  all,  in  presence  of  that  more  distinguished  circle  of  proud  and 
resplendent  spectators,  standing  within  earshot,  on  the  moat  above — 
that  was  the  direst  insult  to  which  he  had  ever  been  subjected.  As 
his  antagonist  repeated  the  taunting  allusion,  his  brow,  already  dark, 
grew  visibly  darker ;  while  his  thin  lips  whitened,  as  if  the  blood  had 
altogether  forsaken  them. 

"Base  demagogue!"  cried  he,  hissing  the  words  through  his 
clenched  teeth ;  "  your  false  tongue  shall  be  soon  silenced.  On  the 
•scutcheon  of  captain  Scarthe  there  is  no  stain,  save  the  blood  of  his 
enemies ;  and  the  enemies  of  his  King.  Yours  shall  be  mingled 
with  the  rest." 

"  Come !  "  cried  Holtspur,  with  an  impatient  wave  of  his  weapon. 
**I  stand  not  here  for  a  contest  of  tongues ;  in  which  no  doubt  the 
accomplished  courtier  Scarthe  would  prove  my  superior.  Our 
swords  are  drawn ;  are  you  ready,  sir? 

"  No,"  responded  Scarthe. 

"No?"  interrogated  his  antagonist  with  m  look  of  surprise. 
*"  What — -" 

"  Captain  Scarthe  is  a  cuirassier.    He  fights  not  afoot.' 

"  You  are  the  challenged  party !  "  put  in  Stubbs ;  "  You  have  the 
right  of  a  choice,  captain." 

"  Our  combat,  then,  shall  be  on  horseback." 

"  Thanks  for  the  favor,  gentlemen  ! "  responded  Holtspur,  with 
a  pleased  look.  "My  own  wish  exactly;  though  I  had  scarce  hoped 
to  obtain  it.    You  have  said  the  word — ^we  fight  on  horseback." 

"  My  horse !  "  shouted  Scarthe,  turning  to  one  of  his  trooper* 
^  Brin^  him  up;  and  let  the  ground  be  cleared  of  this  rabble." 


94  THE   PRELUDE. 

There  was  no  necessity  for  the  order  last  issued.  As  »oon  M II 
had  become  known  that  the  combat  was  to  be  fought  on  horseback, 
^e  people  scattered  on  all  sides — rushing  towards  the  crest  of  thi 
Aoat;  and  there  taking  their  stand — ^most  of  them  delighted  at  the 
^spect  of  witnessing  s  spectacle,  which,  eyen  in  those  ehiyalroiii 
imes,  was  of  imoommon  occurrence. 


CHAPTEB  XDL 


fHB  PABLUOa, 


from  tlie  eommanding  eminence,  on  which  were  chistered  the 
''quality  folks,"  the  preparations  had  been  watched  with  a  yivid 
Interest;  and  with  emotions  varying  in  kind. 

*•  Splendid !  exclaimed  Dorothy  Dayrell,  as  the  sword-blades  were 
seen  clashmg  together.  Beats  the  morris-dancers  all  to  bits !  Just 
what  I  like !  One  of  those  little  interludes  not  mentioned  in  the 
programme  of  the  entertainment.  Surely  we're  going  to  see  a 
fight." 

Lora  Lovelace  trembled,  as  she  listened  to  these  speeches 

"  Oh,  Dorothy  Dayrell ! "  said  she,  turning  upon  the  latter  an 
opbraiding  look.  *'  'Tis  too  serious  for  jesting.  Tou  do  not  mean 
it." 

**  But  I  do  mean  it,  Mistress  Lovelace.  I'm  not  jesting.  Not  a 
\At  of  it.    I'm  quite  in  earnest,  I  assure  you." 

**  Surely  you  would  not  wish  to  sei9  blood  spilled  ?  '* 

"And  why  not ?  What  care  I,  so  long  as  it  isn't  my  own  blood; 
«r  that  of  one  of  my  friends.  Ah !  Ah !  Ah !  What  are  either  ol 
these  fellows  to  you,  or  me  ?  I  know  neither.  If  they're  angry 
with  each  other,  let  them  fight  it  out.  Poh*  poh  !  They  may  kUl 
one  another,  for  aught  I  care." 

**  Wicked  woman ! "  thought  Laura,  without  making  rejoinder. 

Marion  Wade  overheard  the  unfeeling  utterances;  but  she  was  too 
mntiti  occupied  with  what  was  passing  on  the  plain  below,  to  give 


THE  PBELUMB,  W 

heed  to  them.  That  mcipient  suspicion,  though  still  unsatisfied,  wa 
noi  troubling  her  now.  It  had  given  place  to  a  feeling  of  apprehen 
sion  for  the  safety  of  him  who  had  been  its  object. 

"  My  God  !  **  she  murmured  in  sohloquy,  her  hands  clasped  or* 
der  bosom — the  slender  white  fingers  desperately  entwining  each 
other.  "If  he  should  be  killed!  Walter!  dear  Walter!"  she 
cried,  earnestly  appealing  to  her  brother;  ''go  down,  and  stop  it! 
Tel  him— tell  them  they  must  not  fight.  Oh  father,  yoM  will  ii«l 
permit  it  ?  ** 

*'  Perhaps  I  may  not  be  able  to  hinder  them,"  said  Walter,  spring- 
ing out  from  among  the  circle  of  his  acquaintances.  "  But  I  shall  go 
down.  You  will  not  object,  father  ?  Mr.  Holtspur  is  alone,  and 
may  stand  in  need  of  a  friend." 

"  Go,  my  son !  **  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  pleased  at  the  spirit  his  son 
was  displaying.  "  It  matters  not  who,  or  what,  he  be.  He  is  on/ 
guest,  and  has  been  your  protector.  If  they  are  determined  on 
fighting,  see  that  he  be  shown  fair  play." 

"  Never  fear,  father !  "  rejoined  Walter,  hurrying  down  the  slope. 
"And  if  that  drunken  cornet  dare  to  interfere,"  continued  he,  half 
speaking  to  himself—"  I'll  give  him  a  taste  of  my  temper,  very  diffe- 
rent from  what  he  had  last  night." 

As  he  gave  utterance  to  this  threat,  the  ex-courtier  passed  through 
the  crowd,  folloved  by  several  other  gentlemen ;  who,  from  different 
motives,  were  also  hastening  towards  the  scene  of  contentation. 

"  Come,  Mistress  Marion  Wade  ?"  whispered  Dorothy,  in  a  signifi- 
cant way.  "  It  is  not  your  wont  to  be  thus  tender-hearted.  What 
is  it  to  OS,  whether  they  fight  or  no !  It  isn't  your  quarrel.  This 
elegant  cavalier,  who  seems  to  set  everybody  beside  themselves,  ia 
not  y(mr  champion,  is  he  ?  If  any  one  has  reason  to  be  interested  in 
his  fate,  by  my  trow,  I  should  say  it  was  the  Maid  Marian — aliai 
Bet  Dancey.  And  certes,  she  does  seem  to  take  interest  in  him. 
See!  What  she's  doing  now,  the  modest  creature  ?  By  my  word, 
I  beheve  the  wench  is  about  to  throw  herself  upon  his  breast,  and 
embrace  him ! " 

These  words  entered  the  ears  of  Marion  Wade  with  stinging  effect. 
Suddenly  turning,  she  looked  down  upon  the  sea  of  faces,  that  had 
thickened,  and  was  swerving  around  the  two  men ;  who  were  expect- 
ed soon  to  become  engaged  in  deadly  strife.  Many  of  the  cuirassien 
had  arrived  upon  the  ground,  and  their  steel  armour  now  glitterad 
oonspicuoualy  arnon^  tho  more  sombre  y^stmitnta  of  t||#  oiriliii 
fimnfltatiftirir 


9^  THE  PEELUDK, 

Marion  took  no  note  of  these ;  nor  of  aught  else,  sare  the  half-mxyn 
figures  that  occupied  the  centre  of  the  ring.  Scarthe  and  his  comet, 
Henry  Holtspur,  Kohin  Hood,  the  Little  John,  and  the  Friar  wen 
there;  and  there,  too,  was  Maid  !Marian ! 

What  was  she  doing  in  the  midst  of  the  men  f 

She  had  thrown  herself  in  the  front  of  the  cavalier — ^between  hhn 
feud  his  adversary.  Her  hands  were  upraised — one  of  them  actually 
resting  upon  Holtspur's  shoulder !  She  appeared  to  be  speaking  in 
earnest  appeal — ^as  if  dissuading  him  from  the  combat ! 

"  In  what  way  could  the  daughter  of  Dick  Dancy  be  interested  in 
the  actions  of  Henry  Holtspur  ?" 

The  question  came  quickly  belbre  the  mind  of  Marion  Wad<^ 
though  it  rose  not  to  her  lips. 

"Bravo !  cried  Dorothy  Dayrell,  as  she  sa^f  that  the  cavalier  waf 
being  equipped.  "  It's  going  to  go  on  !  A  combat  in  fiill  armor  I 
"  W/>u't  that  be  fine  ?  It  remmds  one  of  the  good  old  times  of  the 
troubadours  1 " 

"  Oh,  Dorothy !  •*  said  Lora,    "  to  be  merry  at  such  a  moment  !** 

Hush !  **  commanded  Marion,  frantically  grasping  t,he  jester  by  the 
arm,  and  looking  angrily  into  her  eye.  "  Another  word,  Mistress 
Dayrell — ^another  trifling  speech — and  yon  and  I  shall  cease  to  be 
friends.** 

*'  Indeed !  **  scornfully  retorted  the  latter,  *'  What  a  misfortune 
that  would  be  for  me !  '* 

Marion  made  no  rejoinder.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  Scarthe 
had  flung  out  his  taunt  about  the  glove  in  the  hat  of  his  antagonist. 

Maid  Marian  heard  the  speech,  and  saw  the  action. 

"  Whose  glove !  **  muttered  she,  as  a  pang  passed  through  hef 
heart. 

Marion  Wade  heard  the  speech,  and  saw  the  action. 

"  My  glove ! "  muttered  she,  as  a  thrill  of  sweet  joy  vibrated 
through  her  bosom. 

The  triumphant  emotion  was  but  short-lived.  It  was  soon  sup* 
planted  by  a  feeling  of  anxious  apprehension ;  that  reached  its  climax^ 
as  the  two  cavaliers,  each  bestriding  his  own  steed,  spurred  their 
horses  toward  the  centre  of  the  camp — ^the  arena  of  the  intended 
combat. 

With  the  exception  of  that  made  by  the  horsemen,  as  they  rode 
trampling  over  the  turf,  not  a  movement  could  be  observed  within  ot 
proimd  the  wlos^  9t  tbf  mi^Jj^    *  ^  ^^  ^9^  9f  ^ WW  forn^ 


97 

that  girdled  the  ground  were  as  motionless,  as  if  they  had  bee*, 
turned  into  stones;  and  equally  silent — men  and  women, youths  and 
maidens,  all  alike  absorbed  in  on©  common  thought — all  voicelessly 
gazing. 

The  chirrup  of  *  grasshopper  could  have  been  heard  throughout 
the  encampment. 

This  silence  had  only  commenced,  as  the  combatants  came  forth 
upon  the  ground,  in  readiness  to  enter  upon  action.  While  engaged 
In  preparation,  the  merits  of  both  had  been  loudly  and  freely  discus- 
«ed  and  bets  had  been  made,  as  if  the  camp  were  a  cockpit ;  and  the 
cavaliers  a  main  of  game  birds,  about  to  be  unleashed  at  each  other. 

The  popular  feeling  was  not  all  at  one  side ;  though  the  "  black 
horseman  "  was  decidedly  the  favorite.  There  was  an  instinct  on 
the  part  of  the  spectators  that  he  was  the  pcopWs  friend ;  and,  in 
those  tyrannous  times,  the  phrase  had  an  important  signification. 

But  the  crowd  was  composed  of  various  elements ;  and  there  was 
more  than  a  minority  who,  despite  the  daily  evidence  of  royal  out- 
rages and  wrongs,  still  tenaciously  clung  to  that,  the  meanest  senti- 
aient  that  can  find  home  in  the  human  heart — loyalty.  I  mean 
Uryalty  to  a  throne. 

In  the  captain  of  cuirassiers,  they  saw  the  representative  of  that 
thing  they  had  been  accustomed  to  worship  and  obey — that  mys- 
terious entity,  which  they  had  been  taught  to  believe  was  as  necessary 
to  their  existence  as  the  bread  which  they  ate,  or  the  beer  they  drank 
— a  thing  ludicrously  styled  "  heaven-descended  " — deriving  its  au  • 
thoiity  from  God  himself— a  king. 

Notwithstanding  the  insult  he  had  put  upon  them  there  were  num- 
bers present  ready  to  shout — 

"  Huzza  for  the  cuirassier  captain ! " 

Notwithstanding  his  championship  of  their  cause,  there  were 
numbers  upon  the  ground  ready  to  vociferate — 

"  Down  with  the  black  horseman  ! " 

All  exhibitions  of  this  sort,  however,  had  now  ceased ;  and,  in  the 
midst  of  a  profound  silence,  the  mounted  champions,  having  ridden 
clear  of  the  crowd,  advanced  towards  each  other  with  glances  re* 
(eiprocally  expressive  of  death  and  determination. 


THB   DOMBAT. 


OHAPTEB  XX. 


ma  ooMBAV. 


It  WAS  a  terrible  sight  for  the  soft  eye  of  •  woman  to  look  upoxL 
The  timid  Lora  Lovelace  would  not  stay ;  but  ran  oflf  towards  th« 
house,  followed  by  many  others.  Dorothy  Darell  called  after  them, 
jerring  at  their  cowardice ! 

Marion  remained.  She  could  not  drag  herself  from  the  approach- 
mg  spectacle ;  though  dreading  to  heboid  it.  She  stood  under  the 
dark  shadow  of  a  tree ;  but  its  darkness  could  not  conceal  the  wild 
look  of  apprehension  with  which  she  regarded  the  two  mailed  horse- 
men moving  from  opposite  sides  of  the  camp,  and  frowningly  approach- 
ing one  another. 

Out  rang  the  clear  notes  of  the  cavalry  bugle,  sounding  the 
**  charge."  The  horses  themselves  understood  the  sigTvA«;  and, 
needed  no  spurring  to  prompt  their  advance. 

Both  appeared  to  know  the  purpose  for  which  they  had  been 
brought  forth.  At  the  first  note  they  sprang  towards  one  another 
— snorting  mutual  defiance — as  if  they,  like  their  riders,^  were  clos- 
ing in  mortal  combat ! 

It  was  altogether  a  duello  with  swords.  The  sword,  at  that  time, 
was  the  only  weapon  of  the  cuirassier  cavalry,  excepting  their  pistols ; 
but  by  mutual  agreement  these  last  were  not  be  used. 

With  blades  bare,  the  dueUists  dashed  in  full  gallop  towards  each 
other,  Scarthe  crying  out :  "  For  the  King ! "  while  Holtspur,  with 
equal  energy  raised  the  antagonistic  cry :  "  For  the  People ! " 

At  their  first  meeting,  no  wound  was  given,  or  received.    As  the 
steeds  swept  past  each  other,  the  ring  of  steel  could  be  heard — sword 
blades  glinting  against  cuirass  and  corslet — ^but  neither  of  the  com- 
batants appeared  to  have  obtained  any  advantage. 

Both  wheeled  almost  at  the  same  instant ;  and  again  advanced  to 
the  charge. 

This  time  the  horses  came  into  collision.  That  of  the  cuirassier 
was  seen  to  stagger  at  the  shock ;  but  although,  during  the  moment- 
irjr  suspension  of  the  gallopj  tji^  §w9r4-bla4^«  of  tho  ggmbatants  werf 


99 

tmsy  in  mutual  out  und  tkrust,  they  separated  4tt  oefore,  appai^jntly 
without  mjury  on  either  side. 

The  collision,  however,  had  roused  the  ire  both  of  horses  and 
riders ;  and,  as  they  met  for  the  third  time,  the  spectators  could  note 
in  the  eyes  of  the  latter  the  earnest  anger  of  deadly  strife. 

Again  rushed  the  horses  together  in  a  charging  gallop,  and  m«t 
with  a  terrific  crash — both  weapons  and  defensive  armor  colliding 
at  the  same  instant.  The  steed  of  the  cuirassier  recoiled  from  the 
Impetus  of  his  more  powerful  adversary.  The  black  horse  swept 
on  unscathed ;  but  as  he  passed  to  the  rear,  the  hat  of  Holtspur  was 
lifted  upon  the  breeze ;  and  fell  behind  him  upon  the  grass. 

Trifling  as  was  the  incident,  it  looked  ominous.  It  was  the  first 
that  had  the  appearance  of  a  triumph ;  and  elicited  a  cheer  from  the 
partisans  of  the  cuirassier  captain. 

It  had  scarce  reached  its  climax,  ere  it  was  drowned  by  the  more 
sonorous  counter-cheer  that  hailed  the  performance  of  the  black 
horseman. 

Having  wheeled  his  horse  with  the  rapidity  of  thought,  he  rode 
back ;  and,  spitting  his  beaver  upon  the  point  of  his  sword,  he  raised 
it  up  from  the  ground,  and  once  more  set  it  firmly  upon  his  head  ! 

All  this  was  accomplished  before  his  antagonist  could  turn  to  at- 
tack him ;  and  the  sang  froid  exhibited  in  the  act,  along  with  the 
graceful  equitation,  completely  restored  the  confidence  of  his  sup- 
porters. 

The  fourth  encounter  was  final — ^the  last  in  which  the  combatants 
met  face  to  face. 

They  closed  in  ftdl  gallop;  thrust  at  each  other;  and  then  passed 
on  as  before. 

But  Holtspur  had  now  discovered  the  point  in  which  he  was  supe- 
rior to  his  adversary;  and  determined  to  take  advantage  of  it. 

The  steeds  had  scarce  cleared  one  another,  when  that  of  the  cava- 
lier was  seen  suddenly  to  stop — reined  backward,  until  his  tail  lay 
spread  upon  the  grass.  Then  turning  upon  his  hind  hoofs,  as  on  a 
pivot,  he  sprang  out  in  full  gallop  after  the  horse  of  the  cuirassier. 

The  black  horseman,  waving  his  sword  in  the  air,  gave  out  a  shout 
of  triumph — such  as  he  had  erst  often  uttered  in  the  ears  of  Indian 
Ibemen — while  the  horse  hinuelf^  as  if  conscirus  of  the  advantage  thus 
^ined,  4ent  forth  ft  shrill  neigh,  that  resembled  the  scream  of  • 
jaguar. 


100  THE  OOMaA.T. 

With  t  glano^  Oter  his  shoulder,  Scarthe  perceived  the  approaching 
danger.  By  attempting  to  turn,  he  would  expose  himself  sideways 
to  the  thrust  of  his  adversary's  sword. 

There  was  no  chance  to  turn  just  then.  He  must  make  distance 
to  obtain  an  opportunity.  His  only  hope  lay  in  the  fleetness  of  his 
Bteed,  and  trusting  to  this,  he  sai^  the  spur  deeply,  and  galloped 
on. 

This  new  and  unexpected  manoeuvre  had  all  the  appearance  of  a 
retreat;  and  the  camp  rang  with  cries  of— " Coward !  "  "He  is 
conquered  !*'     "  Huzza  for  the  black  horseman !  ** 

For  a  moment  Marion  Wade  forgot  her  fears.  For  a  moment  proud 
pleasant  thoughts  swept  through  her  breast.  Her  bosom  rose  and 
fell  under  the  influence  of  triumphant  emotions.  Was  he  not  a  hero 
— a  conqueror — worthy  of  that  heart  she  had  wholly  given  him  ? 

She  watched  every  spring  of  the  two  steeds.  She  longed  to  see 
iiie  pursuer  overtake  the  pursued.  She  was  not  cruel ;  but  she 
wished  it  to  be  over;  for  the  suspense  was  terrible  to  endure. 

Marion  was  not  to  be  tortured  much  longer.  The  climax  was 
dose  at  hand. 

On  starting  on  that  tail-6n-end  chase,  the  cuirassier  captain  had 
full  eonfldence  in  his  steed.  He  was  a  true  Arab ;  possessing  all 
the  strength  and  swiftness  of  his  race. 

But  one  of  the  same  race  was  after  him ;  stronger,  and  swifter 
than  he.  like  an  arrow  from  its  bow,  the  steed  of  the  cuirassier 
shot  across  the  sward.  Like  another  arrow,  but  one  sent  with 
stronger  nerf,  swept  the  sable  charger  in  pursuit.  Across  the  camp 
— out  through  the  cleared  causeway — over  the  open  pasture  of  the 
park — galloped  the  two  horsemen,  as  if  riding  a  race.  But  their 
blazing  armor,  outstretched  shining  blades,  angry  looks  and  earnest 
attitudes — all  told  of  a  different  intent. 

Scarthe  had  been  for  some  time  endeavoring  to  gain  distance,  in 
order  to  have  an  opportunity  of  turning  face  to  his  antagonist.  With 
the  latter  clinging  closely  behind  him,  he  knew  the  manoeuvre  to  b« 
dangerous  if  not  impossible — without  subjectmg  himself  to  tho  thrust 
of  Holtspur's  sword.  He  soon  began  to  perceive  another  danger— 
that  of  being  overtaken. 

The  spectators  had  discontinued  their  shouts ;  and  once  more,  a 
profound  silence  reigned  throughout  the  camp.  It  was  like  the  silence 
that  precedes  some  expected  catastrophe — some  crisis  inevitable. 

From  the  beginning  his  pursuer  had  kept  constantly  gaining  upon 
likn.    The  fore  hoofe  of  the  sable  charger  now  appeared  at  every 


l(h 

bound  to  overlap  the  hind  heels  of  his  ow».  horse.  Should  the  chase 
continue  hut  a  minute  longer,  he  must  certainly  he  oyertaken ;  fot 
the  blade  of  the  cavalier  was  gleaming  scarce  ten  feet  behind  his  back. 
The  climax  was  near. 

"  SuiTender,  or  yield  up  your  life  I  '*  demanded  Holtspur  in  a  de- 
termined voice. 

"  Never !  "  was  the  equally  determined  reply.  "  Richard  Scarthe 
never  surrenders — least  of  all  to " 

"  Your  blood  on  your  own  head,  then !  **  cried  the  black  horse- 
man, at  the  same  instant  urging  his  horse  to  *  final  burst  o) 
speed. 

The  latter  gave  t  long  leap  forward ;  bringing  him  side  by  side 
with  the  steed  of  the  cuirassier.  At  the  same  instant,  Holtspur 'a 
sword  was  seen  thrust  horizontally  outwards. 

A  cry  went  up  from  the  crowd,  who  expected  next  moment  to  see 
the  cuirassier  captain  impaled  upon  that  shining  blade.  The  cuirass 
of  the  time  consisted  only  of  the  breast-plate;  and  the  back  of  the 
wearer  was  left  unprotected. 

Undoubtedly  in  another  instant,  Scarthe  would  receive  his  death 
wound ;  but  an  accident  saved  him.  As  Holtspur 's  horse  leaped 
forward,  the  hind  heels  of  the  other  struck  against  his  off  fore  leg, 
causing  him  slightly  to  swerve ;  and  thus,  changing  the  direction  of 
the  sword-thrust.  It  saved  the  life  of  Scarthe ;  though  not  his 
limbs :  for  the  blade  of  his  antagonist  entering  his  right  arm,  just 
under  the  shoulder,  passed  clear  through — striking  against  the  steel 
rear-brace  in  front ;  and  sending  his  own  sword  shivering  into  the 
air. 

The  cuirassier  captain,  dismounted  by  the  shock,  in  another  instant 
lay  sprawling  upon  the  grass ;  while  his  horse,  with  trailing  bridle^ 
continued  his  onward  gallop,  wildly  neighing  as  he  went. 

"  Cry  quarter,  or  die  !  "  shouted  the  cavalier,  flinging  himself  from 
his  saddle;  and  with  his  left  hand  grasping  the  cuirassier  by  th« 
gorget,  while  in  his  right  he  held  the  threatening  blade.  "  Cry 
quarter  or  die !  " 

"Hold!"  exclaimed  Scarthe.  "Hold!  "  he  repeated,  yrith  the 
addition  of  a  bitter  oath.  **  This  time  the  chance  has  been  yours.  I 
take  quarter." 

"  Enough,"  said  Holtspur,  as  he  restored  his  sword  to  its  sheath. 
Then,  turning  his  back  upon  his  vanquished  antagonist,  he  walked 
silently  away 


IM  .:  .TiliS  COMBAT. 

The  spectators  descended  from  their  elevated  position ;  and^  clu« 
tering  around  the  conqueror,  vociferated  their  cheers  and  congratu- 
lations.    A  girl  in  a  crimson  cloak  ran  up,  and,  kneeling  in  front, 
presented  him  with  a  hunch  of  flowers.    It  was  the  insulted  maiden, 
who  thus  gracefully  acknowledged  her  gratitude. 

There  were  two  pairs  of  eyes  that  witnessed  this  last  episode,  with 
•n  expression  that  spoke  of  pain :  the  blue  eyas  of  Marion  Wade, 
And  the  green  ones  of  Will  Walford — the  representative  of  England's 
outlaw.  The  original  Robin  could  never  have  been  more  jealous  ol 
the  original  Maid  Marian. 

Marion  Wade  witnessed  the  presentation  of  the  flowers,  and  their 
reception.  She  saw  that  the  gift  was  acknowledged  by  a  bow,  and  a 
smile — both  apparently  gracious.  It  never  occurred  to  her  to  ask 
herself  the  question :  whether  the  recipient,  under  the  circumstances, 
could  have  acted  otherwise  ? 

She  stayed  not  to  witness  more;  but,  with  brain  distraught,  and 
bosom  filled  with  fell  fancies,  she  glided  across  the  glacis  of  the  old 
•ncampment ;  and,  in  hurried  steps,  sought  the  sacred  shelter  of  her 
Ikther's  roof. 

Though  hors  d»  combat y  Scarthe  was  not  fatally  hurt.  He  had  re- 
ceived only  the  one  thrust — ^which,  passing  through  his  right  arm, 
had  disabled  him  for  the  time ;  but  was  not  likely  to  do  him  any 
permanent  injury. 

He  was  worse  damaged  in  spirit  than  in  person ;  and  the  purple 
gloom  that  overshadowed  his  countenance  told  his  followers,  and 
others  who  had  gathered  around  him,  that  no  expression  either  of 
■ympathy,  or  congratulation,  would  be  welcome. 

In  silence,  therefore,  assistance  was  extended  to  him ;  and,  in  silence 
WTis  it  received. 

As  soon  as  the  braces  had  been  stripped  from  his  wounded  arm, 
and  the  semi-surgeon  of  his  troop  having  stemmed  its  bleeding,  had 
placed  it  in  a  sling,  he  forsook  the  spot  where  he  had  fallen ;  and 
walked  direct  towards  the  place  occupied  by  Sir  Marmaduke  and  his 
friends. 

The  ladies  had  already  taken  their  departure — ^the  sanguinary  inci- 
dent having  robbed  them  of  all  zest  for  the  enjoyement  of  any  further 
sports. 

The  knight  had  remained  upon  the  ground — chiefly  for  the  pur- 
pose of  discovering  the  object  of  Captain  Scarthe's  presence  in  hif 
pwrlL 


tHE  COMBAT.  ^  103 

He  was  determined  laa  longer  to  remain  in  ignorance  as  to  tha 
•ause  of  the  intrusion ;  and  was  about  starting  out  to  question  th6 
intruder  himself,  when  the  approach  of  the  latter  admonished  him  to 
keep  his  place. 

From  Scarthe's  looks,  as  he  came  forward,  H  was  evident  that  an 
iclaircissement  was  at  hand. 

Sir  Marmaduke  remained  silent — leaving  the  stranger  to  commenoe 
the  colloquy,  which  was  now  inevitable. 

As  soon  as  Scarthe  had  got  within  speaking  distance,  he  demanded, 
In  an  authoritative  tone,  whether  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  was  present 
upon  the  ground. 

The  interrogatory  was  addressed  to  the  rustics  standing  upon  the 
•ward  below. 

They,  perceiving  that  Sir  Marmaduke  had  himself  heard  it,  kept 
silence — ^not  knowing  whether  their  host  might  desire  an  affirmative 
uvswer  to  be  given. 

The  tone  of  impertinence  prevented  Sir  Marmaduke  from  replying, 
and  the  interrogatory  was  repeated. 

Sir  Marmaduke  could  no  longer  preserve  silence. 

"  He  is  present, "  said  he,  without  qualifying  his  answer  by  any 
title,  or  salutation,    "/am  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  good  sir.  I  want  to  speak  a  word  with  you. 
Shall  it  be  private  ?    I  perceive  you  are  in  company." 

"  I  can  hold  no  private  conversation  with  strangers,"  replied  thi 
knight,  drawing  himself  proudly  up.  "  Whatever  you  have  to  say, 
sir,  may  be  spoken  aloud," 

"As  you  wish.  Sir  Marmaduke,"  acquiesced  Scarthe,  in  a  tone  oi 
mock  courtesy.  "  But  if,  to  my  misfortune,  you  and  I  have  been 
hitherto  strangers  to  each  other,  I  live  in  hope  that  this  unpleasant 
condition  of  things  will  soon  come  to  an  end;  and  that  henceforth 
we  shall  be  better  acquainted." 

"  What  mean  you,  sir  ?    Why  are  you  here  ? " 

"I  am  here,  Sir  Marmaduke,  to  claim  the  hospitality  of  your 
house.  By-the-way,  a  very  handsome  park,  and  apparently  a  com- 
modious mansion.  Room  enough  for  all  my  people,  I  should  think  ? 
It  would  scarce  be  courtesy  between  us  if,  eating,  drinking,  and 
sleeping  under  the  same  roof,  we  should  remain  strangers  to  one 
another ! " 

Eating,  drinking  and  sleeping  under  the  same  roof !  You  arc 
merry,  sir!** 


104 

**  With  the  prospect  of  such  pleasant  quarters,  i4)uld  you  expect 
me  to  be  otherwise.  Sir  Marmaduke  ?  '* 

"After  the  lesson  you  have  just  received,"  replied  the  knight, 
returning  irony,  **  one  might  expect  to  find  you  in  a  more  serious  frame 
of  spirit." 

**  Captain  Scarthe  can  show  too  many  scars  to  trouble  himself 
about  such  a  trifle  as  that  you  allude  to.  But  we  are  wasting  time, 
Sir  Marmaduke.  I  am  hungry :  so  are  my  troopers ;  and  thirsty. 
We  feel  inclined  to  eat  and  driii." 

•*  You  are  welcome  to  do  both  one  and  ^he  otbff.  ITou  will  find 
an  inn  three  miles  farther  up  the  road." 

"Nearer  than  that,"  rejoined  Scarthe,  with  an  insulting  laugh, 
"that's  ovr  inn." 

And  as  he  said  this,  he  pointed  to  the  mansion  of  Sir  Marmaduke^ 
standing  proud  and  conspicuous  on  the  crest  of  the  opposite  hill. 

"Come  sir!  said  the  knight,  losing  patience,  "  speak  no  longer 
in  enigmas.    Declare  openly,  and  at  once,  what  you  are  driving  at." 

"  I  am  only  too  desirous  to  oblige  you,  Sir  Marmaduke.  Standing 
in  need  of  refreshments  as  I  do,  I  can  assure  you  I  have  no  wish  to 
procrastinate  this  imseemly  interview.  Cornet  Stubbs  !  "  he  conti- 
nued, turning  to  his  subaltern ;  "  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  carry  a 
piece  of  royal  parchment  in  your  pocket.  Please  draw  it  forth ;  and 
do  this  worthy  gentleman  the  favor  to  make  him  acquainted  with 
its  contents." 

The  comet,  who  had  re-incased  himself  in  his  suit  of  s4;eel,  inserted 
his  fingers  under  the  breast-piece  of  his  cuirass ;  and  presently  produc- 
ed a  folded  parchment,  upon  which  a  large  red  seal  was  conspicuous. 
Unfolding  it,  he  read  aloud — 

"  21ie  jKing  to  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade, 

"  His  Majesty  hearing  by  good  report  of  ye  loyalty  of  Sir  Marmo' 
duke  Wade,  of  JSulstrode  Park,  in  ye  shire  of  JBuckingham,  doth 
hereby  entrust  to  him  ye  keep  and  maintenance  of  ye  Captain  Scarthe 
and  his  troop  of  horse  till  such  time  as  his  Majesty  may  need  ye  sam4 
for  ye  service  of  his  kingdom  ;  and  furthermore,  his  Majesty  do  recrnn- 
mend  ye  said  Captain  Scarthe  to  ye  hospitality  of  Sir  Marmaduke  ca 
a  worthy  and  gallant  officer  and  gentleman,  who  has  done  good  servict 
to  his  country  and  king, 

"  Given  under  ye  great  seal  of  his  Majesty,  at  Whitehall  Palac^ 
this  \^th  <%  of  October^  Anno  Domini,  1640. 

Cabolus  Rhx." 

4» 


m 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


8T0K1  HJUM. 


The  traveler,  journeying  among  the  ChUtem  Hills,  will  often  fin4 
himself  on  the  summit  of  a  ridge,  that,  sweeping  round  mpon  itself, 
encloses  a  deep  basin-like  valley,  of  circular  shape. 

Many  of  these  natural  concavities  are  af  considerable  size — ^having 
%  superficial  extent  of  several  hundreds  of  acres.  Often  a  farm 
homestead  may  be  seen  nestling  within  their  sheltered  limits ;  and 
hot  unfrequently  a  noble  mansion,  surrounded  by  green  pastures — 
these  again  bordered  by  a  belt  of  forest  trees,  cresting  the  summit  of 
the  surrounding  ridge — the  whole  appearing  like  some  landscape 
picture,  set  in  a  circular  frame. 

Such  a  picture  was  presented  in  the  valley  of  Stone  Dean;  a  fair 
mansion  in  the  centre  of  a  smiling  park,  with  a  rustic  framework  of 
beeching  forest,  coping  the  hills  that  encircled  it. 

The  day  was  when  the  park  and  mansion  of  Stone  Dean  may  have 
been  kept  in  better  repair.  At  the  period  of  which  we  write,  about 
both  was  visible  an  air  of  neglect — ^like  a  painting  that  has  hung  un- 
heeded against  the  wall,  till  tarnished  by  dust  and  time. 

Both  dwelling  and  outbuildings  exhibited  evidences  of  decay ;  and 
but  little  sign  of  occupation.  But  for  the  smoke  rising  out  of  one 
of  its  tottering  chimneys — and  this  not  always  to  be  seen— one 
yiewing  the  house  from  the  ridge  above  would  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  uninhabited.  The  shrubbery  had  become 
transformed  into  a  thicket ;  the  pastures,  over-grown  with.  g^rbQ, 
genista,  and  bramble,  more  resembled  a  waste  than  a  park  enclosure ; 
while  the  homed  cattle  wandering  over  them,  appeared  as  wild  as 
the  deer  browsing  by  their  side ;  and,  when  startled  by  the  step  of 
the  intruder,  were  equally  alert  in  seeking  the  concealment  of  the  sur- 
rounding forest. 

Neither  domesticated  quadruped,  nor  bird  appeared  about  the  wall* 
or  within  the  enclosures ;  where  a  human  voice  was  rarely  heard  to 
interrupt  the  shrill  screech  of  the  jay  from  the  bordering  woods  j 
the  clear  piping  of  the  blackbird  amid  the  neglected  shrubbery;  and 

6» 


loll  STOKE  DEAK. 

the  monotonous  cawing  of  the  rooks  upon  the  tops  of  the  tali  ehi 
trees,  that,  holding  hundreds  of  their  nests,  darkly  overshadowed  tbi 
dwelling. 

In  tru  th,  Stone  Dean  had  been  a  long  time  untenanted,  except  bj 
one  of  those  peculiar  creatures  termed  "  caretakers;*'  a  grey-headed 
old  veteran,  who  appeared  less  an  occupant  than  a  fixture  of  the 
place.  He,  his  dog— old  Uke  himself— and  a  cat  equally  venerable, 
had  for  many  years  been  the  sole  denizens  of  the  "  Dean." 

No  one  in  the  neighborhood  knew  exactly  to  whom  the  estate 
belonged.  Even  its  last  occupier  had  been  only  a  tenant  at  will ; 
and  the  real  owner  was  supposed  to  reside  somewhere  abroad — vk 
the  plantations  of  Virginia,  it  was  believed. 

There  were  not  many  who  troubled  their  heads  by  conjectures 
upon  the  subject ;  for  Stone  Dean  lay  so  miich  out  of  the  line  of  the 
ordinary  roads  of  the  country,  that  but  few  persons  ever  found  occa- 
sion to  pass  near  it.  Few  could  say  they  had  ever  been  in  sight  of 
it.  There  were  people  living  within  five  miles  of  the  place  that  did 
not  even  know  of  its  existence ;  and  others  who  had  once  known 
and  forgotten  it. 

Of  late,  however,  the  "  Old  house  of  Stone  Dean  "  ha4  become  a 
subject  of  some  interest ;  and  at  the  fairs,  and  other  village  gather- 
ings, its  name  was  often  pronounced.  This  arose  from  the  circum* 
stance :  that  a  new  tenant  had  displaced  the  old  fixture  of  a  caretaker 
— ^the  latter  disappearing  from  the  place  as  quietly  and  inexplicably 
as  he  had  occupied  it ! 

About  the  new  comer,  and  his  domestic  menage^  there  was  an  air 
of  peculiarity  approaching  the  mysterious.  Such  of  the  peasants, 
as  had  found  pretext  for  visiting  the  house,  reported  that  there  was 
but  one  servant  in  the  establishment — a  yoimg  man,  with  a  copper- 
eolored  skin,  and  long  straight  black  hair,  who  answered  to  the 
name  of  "  Oriole ; "  and,  who  appeared  to  be  of  the  race  of  Ameri- 
can Indians — a  party  of  whom  from  the  Transatlantic  Plantations 
liad  about  that  time  paid  a  visit  to  England. 

It  was  further  known  that  Oriole,  either  could  not  speak  English, 
•r  would  not.     At  all  events,  the  visitors   to   Stone    Dean  had    not 

been  able  to  elicit  from  the  servant  any  L^roat  amount    of  inf- •'• 

respectmg  the  master. 

The  master  hihiself,  however,  wns  not  Inn-  rr'^ulriif  in  th- 
of  Bucks  before  he  became  \v<«l]  t^non  it  V  "(kvu  t<<  his  h 
He  was  in  the  habit  of  mtM^tniL^  rh.Mi!  !>    '\i  '<     ijtk''.    »  "^ 


lor 

ttaldiigt;  of  entering  inl«  free  converse  with  them  on  many  subjects 
—more  especially  on  matters  appertaining  to  their  political  welfare* 
And  seemed  to  lose  no  opportunity  of  giving  them  instructive  hints  in 
regard  to  their  rights  as  well  as  Vfrongs. 

Such  sentiments  were  neither  new  nor  uncongenial  to  the  dwellers 
ftmongst  the  Ohil terns.  They  had  long  been  cherished  in  thei/ 
hearts ;  but  the  dread  of  the  Star  Chamber  hindered  them  from 
rising  to  their  lips.  The  man,  therefore,  who  had  the  courage  to 
give  speech  to  them  could  not  fail  to  be  popular  among  the  worthy 
yeomanry  of  Bucks ;  and  such,  in  reality,  had  become  the  occupant 
of  Stone  Dean,  in  a  few  short  weeks  after  taking  up  his  residence  in 
their  county. 

This  individual  possessed  other  claims  to  popular  favor.  He  was 
»  gentleman — nobly  born,  and  highly  bred.  His  appearance  and  b^ 
havior  proclaimed  these  points  beyond  cavil;  and  in  such  matters, 
the  instinct  of  the  rustic  is  rarely  incorrect.  Furthermore,  the 
stranger  was  a  person  of  elegant  appearance ;  perhaps  not  regularly 
handsome,  but  with  that  air  of  savoirfaire,  and  bold  bearing,  sure  to 
attract  admiration.  Plainly  but  richly  dressed ;  a  splendid  horse- 
man, and  riding  a  splendid  horse  withal ;  frank  and  affable,  not  as 
if  condescending — for  at  this  the  instinct  of  the  rustic  revolts — ^but 
distinguished  by  that  simple  unselfish  spirit,  which  characterizes  the 
true  gentleman,  how  could  Henry  Holtspur  fail  to  be  popular  ? 

Such  was  the  cavalier,  who  had  conquered  the  arm  of  Captain 
Scarthe,  and  the  heart  of  Marion  Wade. 

*  •  •  *  •  %  # 

It  was  the  night  of  that  same  day,  on  which  the  fte  had  been 
held  in  the  Park  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade.  The  unexpected  arrival 
of  the  cuirassiers — ^with  the  exciting  circumstances  that  succeeded — 
had  brought  the  sports  to  an  early  termination. 

After  incidents  of  so  tragical  a  character,  it  was  not  likely  thai 
any  one  should  care  to  continue  the  tame  diversion  of  quoits,  or 
balloon.  Even  single-stick,  and  wrestling  appeared  insipid — succeed* 
ed  to  that  strife,  that  had  well-nigh  proved  deadly. 

Long  before  night,  the  old  camp  had  become  cleared  of  its  crowd. 
Though  groups  lingered  later  in  the  park,  it  was  not  in  pursuance  of 
sport,  but  out  of  curiosity;  and  to  converse  about  what  was  passing 
at  the  mansion — ^whither  the  cuirassier  captain  and  his  troopers  had 
transported  themselves,  after  reading  that  ironical  appeal  to  th^ 
lospitalit^  of  its  owii«r. 


AmoLg  cht  ,i»rliest  who  had  left  the  ground  was  the  conqueror  m 
the  equestrian  combat.  He  could  not  have  gone  direct  home ;  or  he 
must  have  again  ridden  abroad,  since  at  a  late  hour  of  the  night— 
his  horst  dappled  with  sweat  and  foam — he  was  seen  turning  out  of 
the  king's  highway  into  the  bridle-road  already  described,  as  running 
over  the  ridges  in  the  direction  of  Stone  Dean. 

As  the  woods  extended  nearly  the  whole  of  the  way,  he  rode  in 
•hadow — though  a  bright  moon  was  beaming  in  the  heavens  above. 
He  rode  in  silence  too.  But  the  subject  of  his  thoughts  may  be 
easily  conjectured.  Treading  a  track  oft  hallowed  by  her  presence, 
what  but  Marion  Wade  could  he  be  thinking  of? 

More  unerringly  might  his  sentiments  be  divined,  when,  on  reach- 
ing the  open  glade,  he  stopped  under  the  spreading  beech,  raised  his 
beaver  from  his  head,  and  gazed  for  some  seconds  upon  the  white 
glove,  glistening  beneath  its  panache  of  black  plumes. 

As  he  did  so,  his  features  exhibited  a  mingled  expression — half 
fondnesSi  half  fear — ^as  if  his  mind  was  wavering  between  confidence 
and  doubt.  It  was  an  expression  difficult  to  read ;  and  no  one 
ignorant  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life — perhaps  no  one  but  himself 
—could  have  given  it  the  true  interpretation. 

Henry  Holtspur  had  more  than  one  thought  to  sadden  his  spirit ; 
but  the  one  which  most  troubled  him  then  was,  that  she,  who  had 
given  the  glove — ^for  he  fondly  clung  to  the  belief  that  it  had  been  a 
gift — that  she  had  ceased  to  think  either  of  it  or  of  him.  It  was 
now  six  days  since  that  token  had  been  received;  and  excepting  at 
the  fete,  he  had  not  met  her  again.  She  came  no  more  outside  the 
enclosure  of  the  park — ^no  more  was  the  track  of  her  palfrey  impres- 
sed upon  the  forest  patn 

Why  had  she  discontinued  those  lonely  rides — those  wanderings 
ID  the  wood,  that  had  led  to  such  sweet  encounters  ? 

For  days  past,  and  every  hour  of  the  day,  had  Holtspur  been 
asking  himself  this  question ;  bui  as  yet  it  remained  unanswered. 

Little  did  young  Walter  Wade  suspect  the  profound,  though  well- 
concealed  pleasure  with  which  his  fellow-traveler  had  heard,  and 
accepted  his  proffered  hospitality.  The  promised  introduction  on 
the  morrow  would  surely  enable  the  lover  to  obtain  some  explan- 
ation— if  only  a  word — to  resolve  the  doubt  that  had  begun  to  torture 
him? 

That  morrow  had  arrived.    The  introduction  had  been  gi^en. 

Th^  interview  ha4  exkd^>  ill-starrec  \^  w4ght  deem  it  ^  sfece  th^ 


lot 

conduct  of  Marion  lemamed  iuexplicabU  as  ever.  Her  speechel 
during  the  brief  dialogue  held  between  them  had  appeared  even  cold. 
With  more  pain  than  pleasui'e  did  Holtspur  now  recall  them, 

Man  of  the  world  as  he  was — far  from  being  unskilled  in  woman 'i 
lieart,  or  the  way  of  winning  it — he  should  have  reasoned  differently. 
Perhaps  had  the  object  of  this  new  passion  been  an  ordinary  woman, 
he  might  have  done  so.  Many  had  been  his  conquests;  maidens  of 
many  cUmes,  and  of  many  shades  of  complexion— dark  and  fair, 
brunette  and  blonde — all  beautiful,  but  none  so  brilliantly  beautiful 
as  that  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  Saxon  girl,  who  had  made  conquest 
of  his  heart,  and  held  even  his  reason  in  captivity. 

He  gazed  upon  the  glove  with  a  glance  at  once  tender  and  inquiring 
— as  if  he  might  obtain  from  it  an  answer  to  that  question  of  all- 
absorbing  interest; — whether,  under  the  shadow  of  that  sacred  tree, 
it  had  fallen  to  tht  ground  by  accident,  or  whether  it  had  been 
dropped  by  design  ? 

His  steed  struck  the  tur^  with  impatient  hoof,  as  if  demanding  « 
reply. 

"  Ah !  Hubert,**  muttered  his  rider,  "much  aa  I  love  you — even 
despite  the  service  you  have  this  day  done  me — I  should  part  with 
you,  to  be  assured,  that  I  ought  to  esteem  this  spot  the  most  hal- 
lowed upon  the  earth.  But,  come,  old  friend !  that's  no  reason 
why  you  should  be  kept  any  longer  out  of  your  stall.  You  must  be 
tired  after  your  tournament,  and  a  trot  of  twenty  miles  at  its  termi- 
nation.   I'  faith,  I'm  fatigued  myself.    Let  us  home,  and  to  rest !  '* 

So  saying,  the  cavalier,  by  a  slight  pressure  of  his  knees  againsi 
the  side  of  his  well-trained  steed — a  signal  which  the  latter  perfectly 
onderstood — once  more  set  Hubert  in  motion;  who  carried  him 
ttlentlj  away  from  that  seen*  of  uncertain  souyenin. 


UO  THE  footpad's   CONFESSTOJf. 

GEAPTSB  XUL 


It  iras  I»U  at  night  when  Harry  Holtspnr  passed  beitireen  the  Uy- 
mantled  piers  that  supported  the  dilapidated  wooden  gate  of  Stons 
Dean  Park.  The  massive  door  of  the  old  mansion  was  standing 
open,  as  he  rode  forward  to  it.  A  light,  faintly  flickering  within  the 
hall,  showed  in  dim  outline  the  wide  doorway,  with  its  rounded  arch 
of  Norman  architecture. 

Midway  between  the  jambs  could  be  distinguished  the  figure  of  a 
man — standing  motionless — as  if  awaiting  his  approach 

The  moon  was  shining  upon  this  individual  with  sufficient  clearness 
to  show  that  he  was  a  young  man  of  medium  stature,  straight  as  a 
lance,  and  habited  in  a  sort  of  tunic,  of  what  appeared  to  be  dressed 
deerskin.  His  complexion  was  a  reddish  brown — darker  from  the 
shadowing  of  a  shock  of  jet-black  hair ;  while  a  pair  of  eyes,  that 
glistened  against  the  moonlight,  like  two  circular  discs  of  highly 
polished  ebony,  exhibited  no  appearance  of  surprise  at  the  approach 
of  the  horseman 

Something  resembling  a  turban  appeared  upon  the  young  man's 
head;  while  his  legs  were  wrapped  in  leggings  of  similar  material  to 
that  which  composed  the  tunic;  and  his  feet  were  also  encased  in  a 
chaussure  of  buckskin.  A  belt  around  his  waist  showed  a  pattern 
if  colored  embroidery;  with  a  short  knife  stuck  behind  it,  resting 
diagonally  over  the  region  of  the  heart. 

Up  to  the  moment  that  the  horseman  made  halt  in  front  of  the 
doorway,  this  individual  had  neither  spoken  nor  moved — not  even  as 
much  as  a  finger ;  and  with  the  moonlight  full  upon  his  fece,  and 
revealing  his  dusky  complexion,  it  would  not  have  been  difficult  for  a 
stranger  to  have  mistaken  him  for  a  statue  of  bronze — the  stoop  of 
the  doorway  appearing  as  its  pedestal,  and  the  arch  above  ans- 
wering to  the  alcove,  in  which  it  had  been  placed.  It  was  only 
after  the  horseman  had  fairly  checked  his  steed  to  a  stand,  thaf 
the  statue  condescended  to  step  down  from  its  nicti^  \ 


teB  FOOTPAirS  OOlffFBSSION.  IH 

Then,  gliding  ibrward  with  the  stealthy  tread  of  a  cat»  the  Indian 
—for  such  was  this  taciturn  individual — caught  hold  of  the  hridli 
rein ;  and  stood  waiting  for  his  master  to  dismount. 

**  Walk  Hubert  about  for  five  minutes,"  said  the  latter,  as  he  leaped 
<mt  of  the  saddle.  **  That  ruined  stable's  too  damp  for  him  aftel 
Hie  exercise  he  has  had.  See  that  he's  well  rubbed  down,  and  freely 
fed,  before  you  leave  him." 

To  these  directions,  although  delivered  in  his  own  native  language^ 
the  copper-colored  groom  made  no  verbal  response. 

A  shght  motion  of  the  head  alone  indicated  that  ha  understood, 
and  consented  to  obey  them. 

His  master,  evidently  looking  for  no  other  sort  of  reply,  passed  on 
towards  the  doorway. 

**  Has  any  one  been  after  mib.  Oriole  ? ''  mquired  he,  pausing  upon 
the  steps. 

Oriole  raised  his  right  arm  into  a  horuontal  position,  and  pointed 
towards  the  open  entrance. 

•  Some  one  inside  ?  " 

The  interrogatory  was  answered  by  a  nod  in  the  aflSnnatifa. 

•*  Only  one,  or  more  ?  " 

The  Indian  held  up  his  hand  with  all  the  fingers  closed  except  onei 

•«  One  only  ?    Did  he  come  afoot,  or  on  horseback  ? " 

Oriole  made  answer,  by  placing  the  fore  and  middle  fingers  of  lua 
right  hand  astride  of  the  index  finger  of  the  left. 

**  A  horseman ! "  said  the  cavalier,  translating  the  sign.  "  'Tis  late 
for  a  visitor — especially  as  I  did  not  expect  any  one  to-night.  Is  he 
a  stranger.  Oriole? " 

The  Indian  signaled  an  afiSrmative,  by  spreading  bis  fingers,  and 
placing  them  so  as  to  cover  both  his  eyes. 

**  Does  he  appear  to  l^ave  come  fi*om  a  distance  ?  " 

The  pantomimic  answer  to  this  was  the  right  arm  extended  to  its 
fbll  length ;  with  the  forefinger  held  in  a  vertical  position — ^the  hand 
being  then  drawn  slowly  in  towards  the  body. 

The  horseman  had  come  from  a  distance — a  fiMSt  that  the  Indian 
had  deduced  from  the  condition  of  his  horse. 

<<  As  soon  as  you  have  stalled  Hubert,  show  the  stranger  into  my 
sitting-room.    Be  quick  about  it ;  he  may  not  intend  to  stay." 

Oriole,  leadmg  off  the  steed,  passed  out  of  sight  as  silently  as  11 
^th  had  been  the  images  of  a  dissolving  view 


112  THE   footpad's   CONF 

"  I  hope  it  is  one  from  London,"  soliloquized  the  cavalier,  as  hi 
entered  the  house.  "  I  want  a  messenger  to  the  City,  and  cannot 
spare  either  Dancey  or  Walford.  Likely  enough  Scarthe's  coming 
down  is  known  there  before  this ;  but  Sir  Marmaduke's  accession  to 
the  cause  will  be  news,  and  good  news,  both  to  Pym  and  Hampden 

**  I  shall  not  wait  for  Oriole  to  show  him  into  my  room,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  He  will  be  in  the  old  dining- 
hall,  I  suppose.    I  shall  go  to  him  at  once." 

So  reflecting,  the  cavalier  entered  the  room  where  he  expected  to 
salute  his  nocturnal  visitor. 

Finding  it  empty,  he  proceeded  to  explore  another  apartment,  into 
which  Oriole  might  have  ushered  the  stranger ;  and  then  another ;  and 
at  last  the  library — the  apartment  habitually  used  by  himself,  and 
where  he  had  desired  his  guest  to  be  shown  in  to  him. 

The  hbrary  was  also  found  untenanted.    No  visitor  was  there. 

The  cavalier  was  beginning  to  ieel  surprised ;  when  a  light  glim- 
mering from  the  kitchen,  and  a  sound  heard  from  it>  led  him  to 
proceed  in  that  direction. 

On  entering  this  homely  apartment,  he  beheld  the  individual,  who 
had  done  him  the  honor  to  await  his  coming  home  at  such  a  late  houi 
of  the  night.  A  glance  inside  betrayed  the  presence  of  Gregory 
Garth. 

The  ex-footpad  was  stretched  along  a  large  beechwood  bench,  in 
front  of  the  fire;  which,  though  originally  a  good  one,  was  now  in 
a  somewhat  smoldering  condition—the  half-burnt  fagots  having 
parted  in  twain,  and  tumbled  down  on  each  side  of  the  andirons 

There  was  no  lamp ;  but  from  the  red  embers,  and  the  blaze  that 
intermittently  twinkled,  there  came  light  enough  to  enable  the  cavalier 
to  identify  the  form  and  features  of  his  visitor. 

Their  owner  was  as  sound  asleep,  as  if  in  his  own  house,  and 
jreclining  under  the  coverlet  of  his  own  couch;  whilst  a  stentorian 
snore,  proceeding  from  his  spread  nostrils,  proclaimed  a  slumber 
from  which  it  would  require  a  good  shaking  to  arouse  him. 

"So,  Gregory  Garth! "  muttered  the  cavalier,  bending  over  the 
sleeper,  and  gazing,  with  a  half-quizzical  expression,  into  the  coun* 
tenance  of  his  quondam  retamer,  "  It's  you,  my  worthy  sir,  I  have 
the  honor  of  entertaining? " 

A  prolonged  snore — such  as  might  proceed  from  the  nostrils  of  a 
rhinoceros — ^was  the  only  response. 

*^  I  wonder  what's  brought  him  here  to-night,  so  soon  after^-^ 


Ul 

BhaQIawaka  liimand  ask;  or  leare  him  to  snore  %w&y  till  thi 
morning?" 

Another  trumpet-like  snort  seemed  intended  to  iigmfy  tbe  assent 
of  the  sleeper  to  the  latter  couirse  of  proceeding. 

"Well,"  continued  the  cavalier,  "I'm  rather  pleased  to  find  him 
here.  It  looVs  as  if  he  had  kept  his  promise  •  and  disbanded  those 
terrible  brigands  of  his.  I  trust  he  has  do:  fi.  There  *s  a  spark 
of  good  in  the  rascal,  or  used  to  be ;  thoug/  /ho  knows  whether  it 
hmsn't  been  trampled  out  before  this.  Jiy.  »  igfrom  the  soundness 
of  that  slumber,  one  can  scarcely  think  t?  *  ■&  anything  very  heavy 
upon  his  conscience.  Whatever  he  has  d  ;,  it's  to  be  hoped  he  has 
kept  clear  of ' ' 

The  cavalier  hesitated  to  pronounce  tlr  drd  that  had  come  upper- 
ciost  in  his  thoughts. 

"Holding  a  ten-foot  pike  within  twe  mches  of  a  man's  breast, 
is  ugly  evidence  against  him.  Who  k  »,  ;s  what  might  have  been 
the  result,  if  I  hadn't  identified  thos^   '  t  tures  in  time  ? 

"Shall  I  let  him  sleep  on  ?  It's  r»»at<r  a  hard  couch;  though  I've 
often  slept  upon  no  better  myself;  and  I  dare  say,  Gregory  hasn't 
been  accustomed  to  the  most  luxurious  style  of  living.  He'll  take 
no  harm  where  he  is.    I  shall  leave  him  till  the  morning." 

Gregory's  former  master  was  about  turning  away — with  the  inten- 
tion of  retiring  to  his  own  chamber — when  something  white  in  the 
hand  of  the  sleeper  caught  his  eye,  causing  him  to  step  nearer  and 
examine  it. 

Touching  up  the  embers  with  the  toe  of  his  boot,  and  starting  a 
blaze ;  he  saw  that  the  white  object  was  a  piece  of  paper,  folded  in 
the  form  of  a  letter. 

It  was  one  of  goodly  dimensions,  somewhat  shriveled  up  between 
the  fingers  of  the  ex-footpad,  that  were  clutching  it  with  firm  muscu- 
lar grasp.  A  large  red  seal  was  visible  on  the  envelope  which  the 
cavalier — on  scrutinizing  it  more  closely— Kiould  perceive  to  bear  the 
impress  of  the  royal  arms. 

"A  letter  from  the  king!  **  muttered  he, in  a  tone  of  surprise. 
*•  To  whom  is  it  directed,  I  wonder  ?  And  how  comes  this  worthy 
to  have  been  so  suddenly  transformed  fi*om  a  robber  on  the  king'a 
highway  into  a  king's  courier  ? " 

The  first  question  might  have  been  answered  by  reading  the  supei*» 
gcription ;  but  this  was  hidden  by  the  broad  homy  pabn  against 
which  the  back  of  the  letter  rested' 


114  THB  FOOTPAD^S  00NFES8I0N. 

To  obtain  the  solution  to  either  m jsterj,  H  woold  1m  naoessarj  If 
arouse  the  sleeper;  and  this  the  cavidier  now  determined  upon 
doing. 

*'  Gregory  Gkrth !  **  cried  he,  in  a  loud  Toice,  and  placing  his  lips 
within  an  inch  of  the  footpad's  ear;  *' Gregory  Garth!  Stand  and 
deUver!" 

The  well-known  summons  acted  upon  the  sleeper  like  an  electrif 
shock — as  when  often  pronounced  by  himself  it  had  upon  others — 
though  perhaps  with  a  different  significance. 

Starting  into  an  erect  attitude — and  nearly  staggering  into  the 
fire,  before  he  could  get  upon  his  legs — Garth  instinctiyely  repeated 
the  phrase : 

«*  Stand  and  deliyer ! " 

Then,  in  the  confusion  of  his  half-awakened  senses,  he  oontinned 
his  accustomed  formula : — 

*'Ter  money  or  yer  life!  Keep  ycr  ground,  comrades!  They 
won't  resist.    They're  civil  gents ** 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha ! "  interrupted  the  cavalier,  with  a  shout  of  laugh- 
ter, as  he  seized  his  cidevant  servitor  by  the  shoulder,  and  pushed 
him  back  upon  the  bench.  *' Be  quiet,  Gregory;  or  you'll  scare  the 
rats  out  of  the  house." 

"0  Lor — 0  Lord!  Master  Henry— ye  it  be!  I  war  a  dreamin' 
«— I  ar'n't  awake  yet — a  thousand  pardons,  Master  Henry !  ** 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Well,  Gregory— fortunately  there's  nothing  but 
the  rats  to  listen  to  these  dreams  of  yours;  else  you  might  be  telling 
tales  upon  yourself  that  would  lead  to  the  losing  of  your  new  com- 
mission." 

"  My  new  commission !    What  mean  ye  by  that.  Master  Henry  ? " 

«Why,from  that  which  you  carry  in  your  hand,"  replied  the 
cavalier,  nodding  significantly  towards  the  letter.  "  I  take  it,  you've 
turned  king's  courier  ? " 

"Ah!  now  I  understan'  ye.  Master  Henry.  King's  cooreer, 
I'deed !  That  'ud  be  a  tidyish  bizness  for  Gregory  Garth.  If  I 
bean't  that  meself  tho',  I've  been  and  met  one  as  is.  It  war  all 
*bout  this  bit  o'  a  letter  I  coomed  over  here  the  night — else  I'd  a 
made  me  call  at  a  more  seezonable  hour." 

"Is  it  for  me?" 

"Well,  Master  Henry,  it  ain't  'zactly  'dressed  to  ye,  nor  written  te 
fe*  neyther ;  but,  as  far  as  I'm  able  to  make  out  the  meenin*  o't,  I 
think  as  how  there  be  somethm'  in't  ye  ought'r  know  about.  But 
ye  can  teU  better  arter  ye  ba' read  it.*' 


THE    FOOTPAD^  8   CONFK8SIOK. 

(Ircgoi'y  handed  tho  letter  to  the  cavalier;  who  now  perceived  that, 
fclilioLigh  the  seal  was  intact,  the  envelope  had  been  torn  open  at  thi 
edges. 

"  A  king's  despatch      And  you've  opened  it,  Gregory  ?  " 

"  Ye-es,  Master  Henry,"  drawled  the  footpad.  "  It  coomed  some* 
how  apart  at  ween  my  fingers.  Maybe  Tve  done  wrong?  I  didn't 
know  it  war  a  king's  despatch.  And  maybe  if  I  hed  knowed,"  h« 
added  in  an  under  tone,  ^*  I  shud  a  opened  it  all  ih»  same.^' 

The  cavalier  looked  at  the  superscription : — 

#br 

F«  Captain  ScarthB^ 
Cmnmand:  If,M,  Royal  CuirassierB 

Bvlstrode  Parkf 
Shire  of  Bvckingham. 

•«  This  is  not  for  me,  Garth.    It  is  addressed  to— •• 

"I  know  all  that.  Master  Henry;  though  I  didn't  last  night  when 
I  got  the  thing.  I  heerd  o'  their  coomin'  up  the  road  this  morning', 
but " 

"  But  how  came  you  by  the  despatch?** 

"  How  coomed  I  by  it  ?  ** 

**  Yes,  who  gave  it  to  you  ?  ** 

•*  Well,  Master  Henry— I  got  it — a  gentleman  I  mot  last  night--4ia 
—he  gin  it  to  me." 

**  Last  night,  you  say  ?    At  what  hour  ?  ** 

**  Wal,  it  war  lateish— considerable  lateish  i*  the  night.** 

**  Was  it  before,  or  after " 

**  I  met  ye.  Master  Henry  ?  That  be  what  ye  would  bo  askJn) 
Well,  it  war  a  leetlish  bit  arter." 

Gregory  hung  his  head,  looking  rather  sheepish,  as  he  made  the 
itammering  acknowledgment.  He  evidently  dreaded  further  cross- 
questioning. 

**  What  sort  of  a  gentleman  was  he  ?  **  inquired  the  cavalier,  with 
an  air  of  interest,  that  had  something  else  for  its  cause  than  the 
backslidings  of  the  footpad. 

"  He  war  wonderfull  fine  dressed,  an*  rode  a  smartish  sort  o*  be^st 
—he  did.  'Ceptin  that  ere  black  o'  yourn.  Master  Henry,  I  han't 
leed  a  better  hoss  for  some  time  to  coom.  As  for  the  gent  hisseH 
ke  sayed  he  war  jest  what  ye  ha'  been  a  callin'me — a  king's  cooreer.** 


116  fH£:  FOOTPAD^S  OONFESStOtf* 

"And  80  you  took  this  from  the  kkg's  courier ? • 

"Oh!  Mastei  Hen " 

"  I  am  sure  he  did  not  give  it  to  you  ?  ** 

"  Well,  Master  Henry,  it's  no  use  me  tellin*  ye  a  lie  *bont  it.  1 
icknowledge  Ituk  the  letter  from  him." 

**  And  something  else,  no  doubt.  Gome,  Garth  !  no  beating  about 
the  bush.    Tell  the  w^ole  truth  ! " 

"  Good  lor !  master ;  must  I  tell  ye  all?  '* 

*^  You  must;  or  you  and  I  never  exchange  words  again." 

**^Lor — 0  Lord !  I'll  tell  ye,  then,  everything  that  happened 
atween  us.  Ye  see,  Master  Henry,"  continued  he*  disposing  himsell 
for  a  full  confession ;  "  ye  see,  the  gent  hed  such  fine  things  about 
him — as  a  king's  cooreer  ought'er  hey,  I  s'pose — a  watch  an'  chain, 
an'  fine  clothes,  an'  a  goold  pencil,  an'  a  thing  he  called  a  locket,  to 
say  nothin'  o' " 

"I  don't  want  the  inyentory.  Garth,"  interrupted  the  cavalier. 
"I  want  to  know  what  yaa  did  to  him.  You  stripped  him  of  all 
these  fine  things,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  WeU,  Master  Henry,  since  I  must  tell  ye  the  truth  o't,  I  woan't 
deny  but  I  tuk  some  on  'em  from  him.  He  didn't  need  'em  nigh  as 
much  as  meself— that  hedn't  got  nothin'  in  the  world  but  them  old 
duds  as  ye  seed  stuck  up  on  sticks.  I  eased  him  o'  his  trumpery; 
that  I  confess  to." 

"  What  more  did  you  do  to  him  ?  '* 

This  question  was  asked  in  a  tone  of  stern  demand. 

**  Nothin'  more,  I  declare  it.  Master  Henry — only — to  make  sure 
agin'  his  foUerin'  o'  me — I  tied  him,  hand  and  foot;  and  left  him  in 
the  old  hut  by  the  roadside — whar  there  would  be  less  danger  o'  his 
latching  cold  i'  the  night  air." 

"  How  considerate  of  you !  Ah,  Gregory  Garth !  Gregory  Garth .' 
All  this  after  what  you  promised  me,  and  so  emphatically,  too !  " 

'*  I  swar.  Master  Henry,  I  ha 'n't  broke  my  promise  to  ye.  I 
nw&T  it !  " 

"  Haven't  broken  your  promise !  Wretch !  you  only  make  mat' 
ters  worse  by  such  a  declaration.  Didn't  you  say  just  now,  that  il 
was  after  parting  with  me,  you  met  this  messenger  ^  " 

"  That's  true;  but  ye  forget,  Master  Henry,  I  promised  to  ye  that 
night  shud  be  my  last  upon  the  road :  an'  it  hez  been,  an'  will  be.** 

"  What  mean  you  by  this  equivocation?  " 

"  'Twar  jest  deveriy  when  ye  an'  yer  young  friend  rode  off.  Theai 
war  still  a  hoiur  o'  the  night  to  the  good ;  and.  as  ill  luck  would  a't 


^1% 

jest  then  the  feller  kim  ridin*  up,  glitterin*  all  ov'r  i*  spang^li^  an* 
satin,  like  a  pigeon,  as  kep'  sayin*  *  Come  an'  pluck  me  I '  Wha( 
cud  I  do?  He  wanted  pluckin,' an*  I  hedn't  the  heart  to  refusi 
him.  I  did  it;  but  I  swar  to  ye.  Master  Henry — an'  I  swai 
it,  as  I  hope  for  mercy  hereafter — ^that  I  hed  him  stripped  afore  it 
struck  twelve.  I  heerd  the  bells  o'  Peters  Chaffont  &  ringin*  that 
hour,  jest  as  I  war  ridin'  away  from  the  ruin." 

"  Riding  away  !     You  took  his  horse,  then  ?  * ' 

**  Sure,  Master  Henry,  ye  wouldn't  a  hed  im  f\  walk,  wi'  u  beiwrt 
standin*  ready  seddled  on  the  road  afore  me  ?  He  couldn't  »  been  n« 
use  howsomedever  to  the  cooreer :  as  he  wam't  a-goin'  any  furref 
that  night.  Besides,  ye  see,  I  hed  aU  them  clothe*  to  carry.  I 
couldn't  leave  them  behind;  not  knowin'  as  they  mightn't  some  day 
betray  me  arter  I  had  turned  honest." 

"Garth!  Garth!  I  doubt  that  day  will  never  come.  I  fear  yon 
•re  incorrigible." 

"  Master  Henry !  **  cried  the  ex-footpad,  in  a  tone  in  which  serious 
sincerity  was  strangely  blended  with  the  ludicrous  "  did  ye  iver  know 
o'  me  to  break  a  promise  ?    Did  ye  iver  in  yer  life  ? " 

*'*  Well,  in  truth,"  answered  the  cavalier,  responding  to  the  earnest 
appeal  which  his  old  servitor  had  addressed  to  him ;  "  in  the  letter 
I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  have.  But  in  the  spirit — alas! 
Gregory- " 

"Oh!  master;  doan't  reproach  me  no  more.  I  can't  abear  it 
from  ye !  I  made  that  promise  t'other  m'ght,  an'  ye'U  see  if  I 
don't  keep  it.    Ah  !  I'll  keep  it  if  I  shud  starve.    I  will  by " 

And  the  ex-footpad,  uttering  an  emphatic  phrase,  as  if  more  fixedly 
to  clinch  his  determination,  struck  his  right  hand  forcibly  against 
his  ribs — his  huge  chest  giving  out  a  hollow  sound,  as  though  it  had 
received  the  blow  of  a  trip-hammer. 

<»  Gregory  Garth,"  said  the  cavalier,  speaking  in  »  serious  tone^ 
"if  you  would  have  me  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  your  conversion, 
you  must  answer  me  one  question,  and  answer  it  without  evasion. 
I  do  not  ask  it  either  out  of  idle  curiosity,  or  with  any  wish  to  us« 
the  answer,  whatever  it  be,  to  your  prejudice.  You  know  me, 
Gregory,  and  will  not  deceive  me  ? " 

"  Trust  me  for  that.  Master  Henry — niver,  niver.  Ask  yer  quest'n, 
Whatsomever  it  be,  I'll  gie  ye  a  true  answer." 

"  Answer  it  only,  if  you  can  say,  yes,  If  your  answer  must  be  \n 
the  negativei  I  dont  want  to  hear  it.    Your  silence  will  be  sufficieni." 


118 

**  Put  it,  Master  Henry;  put  it:  1  ain't  afeerd.** 

The  cavalier  bent  forward,  and  whispered  the  interrogatufy:*-^ 

"  Is  your  hand  clear  of— murder  V* 

"Oh  Lord!"  exclaimed  the  footpad,  starting  back  with  8oim 
«how  of  horror,  and  a  glance  half  reproachful.  "0  lor.  Master  Henry ! 
Could  ye  a  suspeecioned  me  o'  such  a  thing  ?  Murder — no — ^no— 
niver !  I  can  swar  to  ye,  I  niyer  thort  o'  doin'  such  a  thing ;  an*  my 
hands  are  clear  o'  blood  as  them  o'  the  infant  in  its  kreddle.  I*yf 
been  wicked  enough  'ithout  that.  I've  robbed  as  ye  know — ^waf 
a-goin*  to  rob  yerself  an'  yer  friend " 

"Stay,  Garth!  what  would  you  have  done,  had  I  not  recognized 
you!" 

"  Run,  Master  Henry !  run  like  the  old  Nick  !  I'd  a  tuk  to  my 
heels  the  next  minnit,  arter  I  see'd  ye  war  in  'amest ;  an'  if  yer 
pistol  hedn't  a  put  a  stop  to  me,  I'd  a  left  my  comrades  to  yer  mercy. 
Oh !  Master  Henry;  there  ain't  many  travelers  as  would  heve  be- 
h'ved  like  ye.  It  be  the  first  time  I  iver  hed  to  do  more  than 
threeten,  an'  bluster  a  bit ;  an'  that  war  all  I  intended  wi'  ye  an'  yer 
friend." 

"  Enough,  Gregory !  **  said  the  cavalier,  apparently  satisfied  thai 
his  old  henchman  had  never  shed  innocent  blood. 

"And  now,"  continued  he,  "I  hope  you  will  never  have  even 
threatening  to  reproach  yourself  with  in  the  future — at  least  so  far 
as  travelers  are  concerned.  Perhaps  ere  long  I  may  find  you 
adversaries  more  worthy  of  your  redoubtable  pike.  Meanwhile, 
make  yourself  comfortable  here,  till  the  morning.  When  my  attend- 
ant returns  from  the  stable,  he  will  see  to  getting  you  somie  supper, 
and  a  better  bed  than  you've  just  been  roused  from." 

"Oh,  Master  Henry! "cried  Garth,  seeing  that  Holtspur  was 
about  to  retire.  "  Doan't  go !  please  doan't,  till  ye've  read  what's 
inside  that  ere  dokyment.  It  concams  weighty  matters,  Master 
Henry ;  an'  I'm  sure  it  must  be  ye  among  others  as  is  spoken  o* 
in  it." 

**  Concerns  me,  you  think  ?    Is  my  name  mentioned  in  it  ?  ** 

"  No,  not  yer  name ;  but  thar's  some  orders  about  somebody; 
an'  from  what  I  know  o'  ye  meself,  I  hed  a  suspeecion,  as  soon  as  I 
read  it, — it  mout  be  ye." 

"  Gregory,"  said  the  cavalier,  drawing  nearer  to  his  old  servant^ 
and  speaking  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  some  anxiety  as  to  the  effect 
of  his  wordji^  "what  you  know  of  me«  and  mine,  keep  to  yourself 


A  DISPATCH  ^BOM  JOHK.  Itt 

Not  t  word  to  any  one  of  my  past  history ;  as  you  expect  secrecy 
for  your  own.  Here  my  real  name  is  not  known.  That  I  go  by 
just  now  is  assumed  for  a  time,  and  a  purpose.  Soon  I  shall  nd 
care  who  knows  the  other ;  but  not  yet,  Gregory,  not  yet.  Bemem«* 
berthat!" 

"I  will,  Master  Henry." 

"I  shall  read  this  despatch,  then,"  continued  the  cavalier,  ••  since 
you  say  that  it  contains  something  that  may  interest  me;  and 
especially,  since  I  do  not  commit  the  indiscretion  of  breaking  it  open. 
Ha!  ha !  Your  imprudence,  worthy  Garth,  will  save  my  conscience 
the  reproach  of  that." 

With  a  smile  playing  upon  his  countenance,  the  cavalier  spread 
out  the  dispatch;  and,  holding  it  down  to  the  light  of  tha  blazing 
logs,  soon  made  himself  master  of  its  contents. 


OHAPTER  XXm. 


A  DISPATCH  V&OM  JOHV. 


The  purport  of  the  king's  missive  to  Scarthe  did  not  appear  Is 
take  Henry  Holtspur  much  by  surprise.  His  bearing  betokened, 
that  part  of  what  it  contained  was  known  to  him  already ;  and  the 
other  part  he  might  have  been  expecting.  Enough,  however, 
appeared  in  his  manner  to  convince  Gregory  Garth,  that  he  had 
given  no  offenoe  to  his  old  master  in  having  stripped  the  courier  of 
his  dispatch. 

Whilst  Holtspur  was  still  poring  over  the  paper,  the  Indian  youth 
entered ;  and  after  standing  a  moment  or  two  in  solemn  silence — as 
if  to  see  whether  he  was  required  for  any  particular  purpose — he 
took  a  lamp  from  the  table.  Having  lighted  it  at  the  blaze  of  the 
fire,  he  again  withdrew.  He  departed  as  silently  as  he  had  entered , 
leaving  Gregory  Garth  gaping  in  true  Saxon  astonishment,  and 
wondering  what  part  of  the  world  had  given  birth  to  this  wordless 
foreigner. 


120  A  DtSPAtOfi  PROM  J^Hir. 

The  cavalier  after  reading  the  dispatch  folded  it  np;  a&d  deposited 
it  under  the  breast  of  his  doublet,  as  something  to  be  carefully  kept. 
Then  turning  to  the  ex-footpad,  and  pointing  significantly  to  some 
viands  that  appeared  upon  the  shelf,  he  strode  out  into  the  corridor, 
and  took  his  way  towards  the  library— into  which  Oriole,  with  the 
lamp,  had  already  proceeded  him. 

This  was  a  large  room,  plainly  and  somewhat  scantily  fumished> 
An  oaken  table  stood  in  the  centre,  with  some  chairs  of  like  construc- 
tion, set  scatteringly  around  the  sides.  Against  the  walis  wert 
suspended  ft  number  of  paintings — ^their  subjects  scarce  distinguish- 
able imder  an  envelope  of  long  neglected  dust.  Here  and  there  stood 
book-cases;  their  shelves  close-packed  with  huge  antique  tomes, 
equally  the  victims  of  long  neglect.  Other  objects,  lying  negligently 
around,  appeared  to  have  seen  more  recent  service.  There  were  arms, 
accoutrements,  riding  gear,  traveling  valises,  and  such  like  parapher- 
nalia— placed  sans  fagon  on  chairs,  tables,  or  on  the  floor ;  and 
giving  evidence  that  the  house  was  tenanted  by  one  who  contempla- 
ted only  a  temporary  sojourn. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  room  as  the  cavalier  entered  it.  The 
Indian,  after  depositing  his  lamp  on  the  table,  had  gone  out  again ; 
and  was'now  seen  standing  on  the  stoop  of  the  front  entrance — silent 
and  statue-like,  as  at  the  moment  of  his  master's  return 

"  So  so,"  muttered  the  cavalier,  seating  himself  by  the  table ;  and 
once  more  perusing  the  dispatch.  "  Scarthe  sent  down  to  recruit ! 
And  for  what  purpose  ?  Not  for  a  new  campaign  against  the  Scots  ? 
I  think  his  Majesty  has  had  enough  of  that  enemy.  There's  another 
may  soon  claim  his  attention — nearer  home.  Perhaps  he  is  growing 
guspicious;  and  this  may  explain  his  instructions  to  the  cuirassier 
eaptain.  Well,  let  him  obey  them,  if  he  can.  As  to  recruiting,  I 
fancy  I've  been  before  him  in  that  work.  He'll  not  add  many  files  to 
his  troop  in  this  county — ^if  peasants'  promises  are  worth  relying 
upon.  Hampden's  persecution  and  popularity  have  now  secured 
Buckinghamshire  for  the  good  cause — the  yeomanry  to  a  man ;  and 
as  for  the  peasantry,  I  have  got  them  into  the  right  way  of  thinking. 
The  gentry,  one  after  another,  oome  round  to  us.  This  day  has 
decided  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade ;  converting  him  from  a  passive  spec* 
tator  to  an  active  partisan — conspirator,  if  the  name  rings  better. 
Ah !  Sir  Marmaduke !  henceforth  I  shall  love  you,  almost  as  much 
as  I  love  your  daughter.  No,  no,  no.  That  is  a  love  that  passes  all 
comparison;  for  which  I  would  sacrifice  everything  upon  the  earth- 
aye,  tMfi  <A«  coum  / 


A  Dt8PATo'H   FISOM  JOHN.  121 

"No  one  hears  me;  I  am  speaking  to  my  o\ni  heart.  It  is  .lie  to 
attempt  deluding  it.  I  may  disguise  my  love  from  th^  world;  but 
not  from  myself,  no,  nor  from  her.  She  must  know  it  ere  this  ?  She 
must  have  read  it  in  my  looks  and  actioms.  Not  an  hour  passes 
that  she  is  not  in  my  mind— not  a  minute.  Even  in  my  dreams  do  I 
behold  her  image — &s  palpably  before  me,  as  if  she  were  present- 
that  glorious  image  (A  feminine  grace,  crowned  with  red  roses  and 
j^ellow  gold ! 

"  Can  it  be  an  illusion  ?  Could  it  have  been  all  accident  1  Have 
those  encounters  been  fortuitous — on  my  side  only  designed  ?  And 
the  last  and  dearest  of  all, — when  was  suffered  to  fall  to  the  ground 
that  snow-white  souvenir,  I  have  pinned  so  proudly  to  my  beaver-  - 
tell  me,  ye  spirits  who  preside  over  the  destinies  of  Love — say  that  I 
am  not  the  victim  of  a  fancy,  false  as  it  would  be  fatal  to  my  happi- 
ness ! 

"I  saw  her — ^I  spoke  to  her — ^I  dared  not  ask  herself.  Though 
yearning  for  the  truth — as  the  soul  yearns  for  a  knowledge  of  here- 
after— ^I  dared  not  trust  myself  to  demand  it.  I  dreaded  the  answer, 
as  one  building  castles  in  the  air  may  dread  the  tempest  that  in  an 
instant  may  destroy  them. 

"  0  God !  I  feel  that  if  this  structure  be  destroyed — this  last  love 
of  my  life — I  shall  perish  amid  the  ruins." 

The  cavalier  paused,  a  deep  sigh  causing  his  bosom  to  heai« 
upward — as  if  in  terror  at  the  contemplation  of  such  a  contingency. 

After  a  moment  he  resumed  the  thread  of  his  reflections. 

"  She  must  have  seen  her  glove  so  conspicuously  placed }  She 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  it  ?  She  could  not  mistake  the  motive  of 
my  wearing  it  ?  If,  after  all,  her  act  was  not  intentional — if  the 
gauntlet  was  really  lost — then  am  /lost.  I  shall  pass  in  her  qjqs  as 
an  impertinent — a  presumptuous  trickster.  Instead  of  her  love,  I 
•hall  be  the  object  of  her  contempt — not  pitied,  but  scorned !  Even 
Scarthe,  despite  his  defeat,  will  be  thought  worthier  than  I ! 

"  I  am  mad  to  think  of  her !  More  than  mad  to  hope  she  should 
think  of  me  !  Worse  than  wicked  to  wish  it.  Even  if  she  should 
love  me,  how  can  it  end?  Only  in  her  undoing !  Heaven  keep  me 
from  the  crime ! 

"  Heaven  is  my  judge,  1  have  endeavoured  to  avoid  it.  I  have 
tried  not  to  love  her ;  at  times  wished  she  should  not  love  me.  This 
was  at  first;  but,  alas!  no  longer  can  I  resist  the  sweet  fascination. 
My  heart  has  leaped  beyotid  my  control;  and  both  soul  and  body  must 


122  A  DtSPATCH  FROM  JOHIT. 

now  obey  its  inclinings.  Without  the  love  of  Marion  Wad«,  I  car* 
not  how  soon  my  life  may  come  to  an  end — noi'  much  either  in  what 
way — an  ignominious  gaUows,  or  an  honored  grave. 

"  Sir  Marmaduke  I  must  speak  to  in  person.  Even  a  letter  might 
not  now  reach  him.  'TLs  monstrous,  this  act  of  his  Graci<m9 
Majesty ! "  The  cavalier  pronounced  the  last  words  with  a  scornful 
emphasis.  "Monstrous,  as  on  the  king's  part,  stupidly  foolish. 
It  cannot  fail  to  effect  good  service  for  our  side ;  and  I  should  rejoice 
were  it  any  other  than  Sir  Marmaduke.  But,  to  think  of  this  man 
in  his  house — Richard  Scarthe — the  wily  courtier — the  notorious 
profligate — ^under  the  same  roof  with  Marion  Wade — in  the  same 
room — seated  by  the  same  table — ^in  her  presence  at  all  hours,  by 
night  as  by  day — wielding  that  dangerous  power  that  springs  from  an 
attitude  of  authority.    0  Heavens !  " 

The  painful  thoughts  which  this  train  of  reasoning  produced,  caused 
the  cavalier  to  start  to  his  feet,  and  rapidly  pace  the  room — ^in  hope 
of  allaying  his  agitation. 

"Will  Sir  Marmaduke  remain  at  Bulstrode?  "  he  continued,  after 
a  time.  "  He  cannot  help  himself  ?  To  go  elsewhere,  would  only 
bring  down  upon  him  the  wrath  of  this  queen-ridden  tyrant— 
perhaps,  subject  him  to  some  still  more  severe  infliction?  But  will 
he  keep  his  family  there — exposed  among  the  swaggering  soldiery — 
perhaps  to  be  insulted — ^perhap^  •  * 

"  Surely  he  will  send  them  awi^  —somewhere,  anywhere,  until  a 
better  time  ?    Thank  Heaven,  there  is  hope  of  a  better  !" 

"  I  shall  see  Sir  Marmaduke  to-morrow.  I  promised  him  I  should. 
With  her,  too,  shall  I  seek  an  interview ;  although  it  may  end  in 
giving  me  chagrin — even  if  it  should  be  my  last." 

Having  muttered  this  somewhat  reckless  resolve,  the  cavalier  once 
more  threw  himself  into  a  chair ;  and,  with  Lis  elbows  resting  upon 
the  table,  and  the  palms  of  his  hands  crossed  over  his  forehead,  he 

icemed  to  give  way  to  some  profound  and  painful  reflection. 

*  •  *  •  *  •  # 

Whatever  it  was,  he  was  not  allowed  long  to  indulge  in  it.  The 
entrance  of  Oriole  would  scarce  have  aroused  him  from  his  reverie — 
for  the  moccasined  foot  of  the  IMian  made  no  sound  upon  the  floor 
— ^bnt  at  the  sam*  instant  a  noise  of  another  kind  was  heard  within 
the  apartment— tne  grinding  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  gravel  outside 
the  entrance  door. 

Oriole,  after  entering,  had  stopped  in  an  attitude  that  told  he  had 
something  to  communicate. 


U3 

••  What  Is  It,  Oriole  ?    Another  visitor  ?  ** 

The  Indian  nodded  in  the  affirmatiye. 

'*  On  horseback  ?  I  need  not  ask :  I  hear  the  tre«d  of  his  horse. 
A  stranger  ?  " 

With  the  same  pantomime  as  he  had  used  when  interrogated 
before,  the  Indian  made  reply — adding  also,  by  a  repetition  o^  bii 
former  signs,  that  the  visitor  had  come  from  a  distance. 

''Show  him  in  here;  see  to  his  horse,  and  find  stabling;  fo.  him 
The  gentleman  may  perhaps  make  stay  for  the  night." 

Without  any  other  acknowledgement  that  he  unuerstood  the 
instructions,  than  by  proceeding  to  obey  them,  the  taciturn  attendant 
turned  on  Ms  heel,  and  glided  out  of  the  apartment. 

The  arrival  of  a  guest  at  that,  or  any  other  hour,  caused  but  little 
surprise  to  the  host  of  Stone  Dean.  There  was  nothing  unusual  in 
the  circumstance.  On  the  contrary,  more  than  a  moiety  of  his  visitors 
were  accustomed  to  make  their  calls  after  midnight — ^not  unfre- 
quently  taking  their  departure  before  morning.  Hence  the ''  perhaps  " 
Sn  the  orders  given  to  Oriole. 

"Who  can  he  be?"  was  Holtspur's  self-interrogation,  as  his 
attendant  passed  out  of  the  room.    "  I  expected  no  one  to-night." 

The  grave,  sonorous  voice,  at  this  moment  interrogating  the  Indian 
Ibmished  no  due  to  the  speaker's  identity.  Holtspur  did  not 
recognize  it. 

There  was  no  reply  on  the  part  of  Oriole ;  but,  his  silent  gesticu- 
lation must  have  proved  sufficient :  for,  shortly  after,  the  tread  of  a 
keavy  boot,  accompanied  by  a  sUght  tinkling  of  roweled  spurs, 
sounded  within  the  hall.  In  another  moment,  a  tall  dark  man  made 
iis  appearance  in  the  doorway;  and,  without  waiting  further  invita- 
tion, or  even  taking  off  his  hat,  stepped  resolutely  into  the  room. 

The  individual,  thus  freely  presenting  himself,  was  a  man  of  pecu- 
liar— almost  rude — ^aspect.  He  was  dressed  in  a  suit  of  coarse  brown 
doth ;  a  fdt  hat,  without  any  feather,  and  strong  trusset  boots— the 
heels  of  which  were  furnished  with  ircn  spurs,  exceedingly  rusty. 
Instead  of  lace,  he  wore  a  band  of  plain  linen  of  the  narrowest  cut 
which,  with  the  closely  trimmed  hair  above,  betokened  an  affectation 
of  the  Puritan  costume ;  whatever  may  have  been  the  religious  pro- 
divities  of  the  wearer. 

Notwithstanding  the  commonness  of  his  attire,  there  was  nothing, 
either  in  his  countenan««  or  demeanor,  that  proclaimed  him  a  mere 
messenger,  or  serrani.    0u  Uie  contrary,  the  slight  salute  which  he 


124  A  DISPATCH   FROM  JOHN. 

vouchsafed  to  the  cavalier;  the  non-removal  of  his  hat;  sad  the  aif 
of  cool  confidence  which  he  continued  to  preserve,  after  entering  tht 
room,  bespoke  a  man,  who,  whatever  his  rank  in  life,  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  cringe  in  the  presence  of  the  proudest. 

The  face  was  rather  serious  than  sour.  The  hair  was  dark — tht 
fikin  slightly  cadaverous — though  the  features  were  not  disagreeable 
to  look  upon.  Though  far  from  cheerful  in  their  expression,  thej 
were  interesting  from  a  certain  cast  denoting  calmness  and  courage ; 
traits  of  character  farther  confirmed  by  the  determined  glance  of  n 
penetrating  coal-black  eye. 

"  By  the  duit  upon  your  doublet.  Master,"  said  Holtspur,  after  re 
turning  the  salutation  of  his  visitor,  **  you  have  left  some  miles  oi 
road  behind  you,  since  setting  foot  in  the  stirrup  ?  ** 

"  Twenty-five." 

"  That  is  just  the  distance  to  London.    Thence,  I  presume  ?  ** 

**  From  London." 

**  May  I  ask  your  errand  ?  ** 

"I  come  from  John,**  replied  the  stranger,  laying  %  significant  em 
phasis  on  the  name. 

"  You  have  a  message  i\»  me  ? " 

"I  have." 

There  was  a  pause — Holtspur  remaining  silent — as  if  awaiting  the 
delivery  of  the  message. 

" Before  declaring  my  errand,"  pursued  the  stranger,  "I  want  a 
word,  to  make  sure  you  are  he  for  whom  it  is  intended." 

"  The  John  who  sent  you,  is  the  same  who  nobly  resisted  payment 
of  the  ship  money" 

**  Enough  !  "  said  the  messenger,  taking  a  dispatch  from  under  the 
breast  of  his  doublet;  and,  without  further  hesitancy,  handing  it  to 
his  host. 

There  was  no  superscription  upon  the  folded  paper;  but,  a»  tho 
cavalier  broke  it  open  under  the  light  of  the  lamp,  at  the  head  of  ^ho 
page  could  be  seen  something  that  resembled  an  address — written  in 
hieroglyphics. 

The  body  of  the  despatch  was  in  plain  English,  and  as  follow*  *- 

*' j^  cuirassier  captain — Scarthe  by  name — has  gone  down  witu  ifu 
skeleton  of  a  troop  to  yovr  neighborhood.  It  is  believed  he  has  a  commis" 
sirni  to  recruit.  He  is  to  be  quartered  on  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  ;  hut 
you  will  know  all  this  before  our  messenger  reaches  you.  It  is  well' 
Sir  Marmaduke  xoill  surely  hold  ovt  no  longer  t    Make  some  excttss  |t 


A   DISPATCH   FROM  JQJSN.      .  1^ 

•M  Aim  ;  oTid  ascertain  haw  ihU  beneyolencb  acta.  Do  all  you  can, 
without  compromising  yourself,  to  make  the  recruiting  unpopulaf* 
Call  the  friends  together  at  the  old  rendezvous  on  the  night  of  the  29tA 
Pym  and  Martin,  and  I  mill  be  down ;  and  perhaps  yowng  Harry 
Fane,  If  you  could  get  Sir  Marmaduke  to  Mend,  it  would  he  apoini . 
See  that  your  invitations  are  conveyed  with  due  secrecy,  and  by  trusty 
\ands.  J  give  you  hit  little  tim^  Act  with  caution  ;for  this  cuiras*^ 
sier  captain,  who  is  a  courtier  of  some  note,  is  doubtless  entrusted  tvitk 
other  commissions,  besides  that  of  raising  recruits.  Keep  your  eye 
upon  him  ;  and  keep  his  as  much  as  may  be  off  yourself.  My  Messen- 
ger returns  here  at  once.  Feed  his  horse,  and  despatch  him.  You  wiaj 
tru^t  the  man.  He  has  suffered  in  the  cause  :  as  you  may  convince  your- 
self  by  glancing  under  the  brim  of  his  beaver,  DonH  be  offended  ij 
he  insists  on  wearing  it  in  your  presence,  Ifs  a  way  he  has.  He  will 
himself  tell  you  his  name,  which  for  certain  reasons  may  not  be  written 
here.     The  good  work  goes  bravely  on." 

So  ended  the  dispatch. 

There  was  no  name  appended.  None  was  needed ;  for,  althougb 
the  handwriting  was  not  that  of  the  great  patriot,  Henry  Holtspur 
well  knew  that  the  dictation  was  his.  It  was  not  the  first  communi- 
cation of  a  similar  kind  that  had  passed  between  him  and  Hampden. 

The  first  thing  which  he  did,  after  having  read  the  dispatch,  was  to 
cast  a  stealthy  glance  at  the  individual  who  had  been  its  bearer ;  and 
directed  towards  that  portion  immediately  imder  his  hat. 

Holtspur  could  observe  nothing  there — at  least  nothing  to  explain 
the, ambiguous  allusion  in  the  letter  of  his  correspondent.  One  cir- 
cumstance, however,  was  singular.  On  both  sides,  the  brim  of  the 
beaver  was  drawn  down,  and  fastened  in  this  fashion  by  a  strap  of 
leather  passing  under  the  chin,  as  if  the  wearer  had  caught  cold  in 
his  ears,  and  wished  to  protect  them  from  the  night  air. 

The  oddness  of  the  style  did  not  remain  long  a  puzzle.  He  wh« 
had  adopted  it,  noticed  the  furtive  scrutiny  of  the  cavaUer ;  and  ans- 
wered it  with  a  grim  smile. 

"  You  perceive  that  I  wear  my  hat  rather  slouchingly — not  to  say 
ill-mannerly,"  said  he.  **  It  has  been  my  fashion  of  late.  Why  IVi 
taken  to  it  would  be  explained  by  my  uncovering ;  but,  perhaps  it  would 
save  trouble,  if  I  tell  you  my  name.    I  am  William  Prynne." 

"  Prynne !  "  exclaimed  the  cavalier,  starting  forward  and  eagerly 
grasping  the  Puritan  by  the  hand.  "  I  am  proud  to  see  you  undei 
my  poor  roof;  and,  such  hospitality  as  I  can  show — -" 


m 

''Henry  Holtspnr  need  not  declare  these  sentiments  to  WilliMi 
Prynn«,**  said  the  earless  Puritan,  interrupting  the  complimentary 
speech.  **  The  friend  of  the  oppressed  is  well  known  to  all  who  hav< 
Buffertid;  and  I  am  of  that  number.  I  thank  you  for  a  hospitality 
which  I  can  partake  of  for  but  a  few  minutes.  Then  I  must  bid  yon 
adieu,  and  be  gone.  The  work  of  the  Lord  must  not  tarry.  The 
harvest  is  fast  ripening ;  and  it  behooyes  the  reapers  to  get  their  sickles 
in  readiness.'^ 

The  cavalier  was  too  muchative  to  the  necessity  of  the  times,  tc 
spend  a  moment  in  idle  speech.  Directing  the  messenger's  horse  to  bt 
well  ca?^  for — a  duty  which  the  ex-footpad  took  upon  himself  to  per- 
form— ^he  ordered  Oriole  to  place  a  repast  before  his  visitor. 

To  this  the  hungry  Puritan,  notwithstanding  his  haste,  proceeded  to 
do  ample  justice;  while  Holtspur,  throwing  open  his  desk,  hurriedly 
indited  an  answer  to  the  letter  of  his  correspondent. 

Like  the  dispatch,  it  was  neither  directed  nor  signed  by  any  name» 
that  could  compromise  either  the  writer,  or  him  for  whom  it  was  in- 
tended. The  greatest  danger  would  be  to  him  who  was  to  be  exk- 
trosted  with  its  delivery.  But  the  staunch  partisan  of  religious 
liberty  recked  little  of  the  risk.  The  great  cause,  glowing  in  his  zeal- 
ous heart,  rendered  him  insensible  to  petty  fears;  and,  after  finishing 
his  hurried  meal,  he  once  more  betook  himself  to  the  saddle;  shook 
the  hand  of  his  host  wit!i  cold  yet  fraternal  grasp ;  bade  adieu  to  Stout 
Dmh  ;  and  rode  swiftly  and  silently  away. 


A  TBIO  OF  OOUBIEBS.  W 


OHAPTBBXXIY 


A  ffftIO  OF  OOIIBIIBS. 


Before  the  hoof-strokes  of  the  Puritan's  horse  had  ceased  grmdiBf 
on  the  graveled  path,  Holtspur  summoned  the  ex-footpad  into  his 
presence. 

During  the  interval  that  had  elapsed,  the  latter  had  not  been  idling 
his  opportunity,  as  was  indicated  by  the  condition  of  the  haunch  of  cold 
venison  of  which  he  had  been  invited  to  partake ;  and  which  was  the 
same  set  before  the  traveler  who  had  just  taken  his  departure.  A  huge 
crevasse  scooped  crosswise  out  of  the  joint,  told  incontestably  that 
Garth  had  supped  to  his  satisfaction ;  while  a  tankard  of  strong  ale, 
which  accompanied  the  missing  meat,  had  set  his  spirits  in  a  very  satis- 
factory state. 

As  he  had  previously  obtained  sufficient  sleep — ^to  compensate  for 
his  loss  for  that  necessary  restorative  on  the  preceding  night— hi 
was  now  ready  for  anything — according  to  his  own  dedaration  "  any- 
thing from  pitch  and  toss  up  to  manslaughter !  " 

It  was  fortunate  he  was  in  this  prime  condition;  naoe  hia  servicM 
—though  not  for  any  sanguinary  purpose — were  just  then  needed. 

•*  Garth ! "  began  the  cavalier,  as  his  old  retainer  entered  the  room 
"  I  hinted  to  you,  that  a  good  cause  might  stand  in  need  of  you  soon. 
It  needs  you  now,'' 

"  I'm  ready.  Master  Henry,  to  do  yer  biddin';  an'  though  I  never 
cut  throat  i'  me  life,  if  you  say  the  word " 

"  Shame — shame !  Gregory !  Don't,  my  good  fellow,  allow  your 
thoughts  to  run  into  such  frightful  extremes.    Time  enough  to  talk 

of  throat-cutting  when "  here  the  cavalier  paused  in  his  speech; 

"  never  mind  when,"  he  continued — "  I  want  you  just  now  for  a  pur- 
pose altogether  pacific." 

"  Oh,  anythin'  ye  like.  Master  Henry.  I'm  ready  to  turn  Puritan, 
an'  go  a  preechin',  if  ye're  i'  the  mind  to  make  a  missioner  o'  me.  I 
had  a  word  or  two  wi'  that  theer'un,  whiles  ye  war  a  writin*  im  oat 
his  answer ;  an'  he  gied  me  a  consid'rable  insight  into  theer  way  o* 
translatin'  the  Scripter,  I  reckon  it  be  the  right  way ;  though  'Um'i 
•ooordm'  to  old  Mi^it^  Laud  aii'  his  Boimsh  clargy/' 


Utt 

•*Come,  Garth!  "  said  the  cavolier,  speaking  impatiently;  "thi 
MJTipe  for  which  I  want  you  has  nothing  to  do  with  religious  matters. 
I'm  in  need  of  a  messenger — one  who  knows  the  country — more  es- 
pecially the  residences  of  a  number  of  the  gentry,  to  whom  I  hart 
occasion  to  send  letters.  How  long  have  you  been  liying  in  Bucking- 
hamshire ?  '* 

"Well,  Master  Henry,  IVe  been  in  an'  about  old  Bucks  a  tidyisb 
time — off  an'  on  I  reckon  for  the  better  part  o'  the  last  ten  year— 
I'deed,  iver  since  I  left  the  old  place,  ye  know — but  I  han't  niver  been 
over  a  entire  year  i'  the  one  partikler  place  at  a  time,  d'ye  see.  My 
eonstitushun  ha'  been  rather  delicate  at  times,  an'  needed  change  o' 
air." 

"  You  know  the  topography  of  the  country,  I  suppose  ?  ** 

•*  I  doan't  understand  what  ye  mean  by  that  ere  topografy.  It  h^ 
A  biggish  sort  o'  a  word.  If  ye  mean  the  roadsj  I  knows  them,  putty 
nigh  as  well  as  the  man  that  made  'em — 'specially  them  that  runs 
•tween  here  an'  Oxford." 

"  Good !  That's  the  very  direction  in  which  I  stand  in  need  of  a 
trusty  messenger.  I  have  others  I  can  send  towards  the  north  and 
south;  but  none  who  know  anything  of  the  Oxford  side.  You  will 
do.  If  you  are  familiar  with  the  roads  in  that  direction,  then  you 
must  also  be  acquainted  with  most  of  the  residences  near  them — I 
mean  those  of  the  gentry." 

"Oh!  ye-e-6,"  assented  Greorgy,  in  a  thoughtful  drawl.  "I've 
keerd  speak  o'  most  on  'em;  an'  I  dar  say  most  o'  'em's  heerd  speak 
O'  me." 

"  Could  you  deliver  letters  to  H L ,  to  Sir  K.  F ,  to 

young  M ,  son  of  Lord  S.,  to  R M ,  of  Cheveley  Park,  and 

lo  Master  G.  0.,  a  magistrate  of  the  borough  of  High  Wycombe  ? " 

The  cavalier,  in  putting  this  question,  gave  the  names  in  full. 

**  Well,"  replied  the  ex-footpad,  "  I  dare  say  I  kud  deliver  letters 
to  all  the  gents  ye've  made  mention  o',  that  be  i'  the  order  as  ye've 
named  'em.  But  if  I  war  to  begin  whar  ye've  left  off,  then  I  shud  be 
obligated  to  leave  off  jest  whar  I  bed  begun." 

"  What !  I  don't  understand  you,  Gregory." 

"  Why,  it  be  simple  enough,  Master  Henry.  War  I  to  carry  a  let- 
ter to  that  old  pot-guts  Justice  o'  High  Wycombe,  'tain't  likely  I 
shud  bring  back  the  answ^i  ^^^^  ^^^  S^^  1^T9  to  go  0|i  to  tbl 
t'others,  as  ye've  named.*' 

f*Po^«tbat,G§rtiL** 


A  TBIO  OF  OOtJltllEBA. 

••Kas©  ye  see  Old  Wyk  an'  I  hae  had  a  Uetlish  bit  o*  a  ^luirreZ, 
oncest  on  •  time ;  an  if  he  war  to  see  mo  agin,  he  might  rememUr 
that  eredifiPrenceatweenus,  an'jw^me.  TU  take  yer  lettcrg  to 
t'others ;  an'  'un  last  o'  all,  if  ye  insist  on't ;  but  if  ye  do,  Master 
Henry,  I  won't  promise  to  bring  back  any  answers." 

"  Never  mmd  him,  then,"  said  the  cavalier,  appearing  to  give  up  th« 
idea  of  communicating  with  the  Wycombe  Justice.  "  You  can  safely 
f isit  M  the  others,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Gregory  nodded  assent. 

•*  You  must  start  at  onot.  Ah!  I  did  not  thmk  of  H;  you  will 
stand  in  need  of  a  horse  ! " 

"  No,  I  woan't,"  replied  the  footpad,  with  a  significant  smile,  "  !'▼• 
got  one/* 

"  Oh !  the  horse  you " 

The  cavalier  hesitated  to  finish  the  speech  that  had  risen  to  his 
tongue. 

"  Why,  ye-e-s,"  drawled  the  ex-footpad,  "  it's  a  anymal  as  haa 
done  the  king  sarvice;  an'  I  doan*t  see  why  it  shudn't  now  be  em- 
ployed in  the  sarvice  o'  the  people.  If  I  be  allowed  to  ha'  my  guess. 
Master  Henry,  I  shud  say,  that's  the  errant  on  which  ye  be  sendin' 
me." 

"  It  is,"  assented  the  cavalier,  with  emphasis. 

"  I  am  glad  o'  't,"  exclaimed  Garth,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  enthusiasm.  "  Write  yer  letters.  Master  Henry ,  Tlj 
take  'em  whar  they'er  directed — even  if  one  o'  'em  he  to  the  jailer  & 
Newgate ! " 

The  cavalier,  gratified  by  this  ebulition,  turned  smilingly  to  the 
table,  and  commenced  preparing  the  epistles. 

In  less  than  an  hour,  the  ex-footpad  was  transformed  into  a  post* 
man ;  and  mounted  upon  the  stolen  steed  of  the  king's  courier  was 
making  his  way  along  the  main  road  that  runs  between  the  city  of 
London  and  the  city  of  Colleges. 

At  his  departure  the  Indian  attendant  was  called  into  the  room 

**  Oriole ! "  asked  the  cavalier.  "  Do  you  think  you  can  find  the 
way  to  the  cottage  of  Dick  Dancey — the  woodman  who  comes  here  so 
treqiiently  ?     You  have  been  to  the  wigwam,  haven't  you  ?  " 

The  Indian  made  a  sign  of  assent. 

**  You  know  the  way,  then  ?  The  moon  is  still  shining.  I  think 
you  will  have  no  diflQculty  in  finding  the  place — although  there's  nol 
%  very  clear  Pftth  ^  W* 

f 


ISO 

Oriole's  onlj  rejolisder  to  this  was  a  slight  scornful  eurling  of  tht 
lip;  as  much  as  to  say,  **  Does  the  pale-face  fancy  that  I  ftm  like  ons 
of  his  own  race — a  fool  to  lose  my  way  in  the  forest  ?  ** 

**  All  right,  my  redskin ! "  continued  the  cavalier,  in  a  jocular  straix^ 
**  I  see  you  can  find  the  road  to  Dancey's.  But  I  want  you  to  go  b^ 
yond.  In  the  same  direction,  only  half  a  mile  farther  on,  there  is 
another  hut  inhabited  by  another  woodman.  You  have  seen  him  here 
also— the  young  man  with  the  hay-colored  hair  and  white  eyebrows  ?  ** 

Oriole  signified  that  he  had  seen  the  individual;  though  a  certain 
expression— just  discernible  in  the  Indian's  ey« — ^betokened  repug  • 
nance  to  the  person  so  described. 

**  Very  well,"  continued  the  cavalier,  without  appearing  to  notion 
the  expression.  **  I  want  both  Dancey  and  the  light-haired  man  to 
come  to  me — ^as  soon  as  you  can  summon  them.  Qo  to  Dancey's 
first ;  and  if  you  think  you  cannot  find  the  other,  Dancey  will  go 
along  with  yon.  Tell  both  to  come  prepared  for  a  journey  of  two 
days.  What  a  pity  you  can't  talk,  my  poor  fellow !  But  no  matter 
for  that ;  Dancey  will  understand  your  signs." 

The  Indian,  as  if  he  either  did  not  hear,  or  heeded  not  this  expres- 
sion of  sympathy,  turned  towards  the  door;  and  without  either  sign 
or  ceremony  made  his  spectral-like  departure. 

«  The  night  of  the  29th,"  soliloquized  Henry  Holtspur,  as  he  sat 
once  more  pen  in  hand  before  his  writing-table.  "  Not  much  time 
have  they  given  me.  Dick  and  his  prospective  son-in-law  must  start 
at  once.  By-the-way,  I  don't  know  whether  it's  safe  to  trust  this 
Walford — ^though  the  old  deer-stalker  believes  in  him.  I'm  always 
suspicious  of  white  eyebrows.  I've  noticed  something  in  his  grey 
gneen  eyes  I  don't  like;  and  this  very  day — after  I  had  espoused  the 
quarrel  of  his  sweetheart,  too— I  saw  him  looking  at  me  with  glances 
not  altogether  grateful !  Jealous,  perhaps,  of  the  girl  having  given 
me  those  fiowers  ?  Ah !  if  he  only  knew  how  little  her  token  was 
cared  for,  alongside  that  other  token — ^if  he  knew  how  I  myself  was 
sufiering-^perhaps  'twould  cure  him  of  his  spleen ! 

**  After  all  he's  but  a  brutal  fellow — far  firom  worthy  of  being  th« 
favorite  of  this  bold  forest  bird.  Bet  Dancey.  I'  faith  she's  a  hen- 
hawk  that  deserves  an  eagle  for  her  mate ;  and  I  might  have  given 
this  rough  rus  ic  cause  to  be  uncomfortable,  but  that  his  black  beaut j 
is  eclipsed  under  the  glare  of  that  dazzling  sunbeam.  Ah !  Marion 
Marion  !  in  thy  presence — or  absence  either — all  other  faces  seem  iJJ 
l^vored*    Charmm^  or  ugl^^^  to  m^  e^es  §11  are  alike ! 


131 

•  Come !  '*  oontina3d  the  cavalier,  as  the  train  of  his  reflections  waa 
fntermpted  by  some  thought  prompting  him  to  the  necessity  of  action. 
"  I  must  get  these  letters  ready  against  the  arrival  of  my  messengers 
There  are  a  dozen,  and  I'm  but  an  indifferent  «cribe.  Luckily,  as 
they're  only  *  notes  of  invitation,'  a  word  to  each  will  be  sufBaient." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  tie  table;  and  proceeded 
lo  pen  the  epistles. 

He  did  not  desist  from  his  task,  until  some  ten  or  twelve  letters-^ 
sealed  and  addressed  to  various  individuals,  all  gentlemen  of  th« 
eounty,  lay  on  the  table  before  him. 

**  These,  I  think,  are  all,"  muttered  he,  as  he  ran  his  eye  over  the 
Addresses.  '*  Along  with  those,  whom  Garth  has  gone  to  summon, 
a  goodly  array  they  will  make,  and  all  true  friends  to  the  cause  of 
England's  liberty ! " 

This  soliloquy  was  succeeded  by  the  entrance  of  the  Indian,  whose 
lark  form  came  stealing  like  a  shadow  under  the  light  of  the  lamp. 

By  a  pantomimic  gesture,  his  master  was  told  that  the  two  men  he 
had  gone  to  fetch,  had  arrived  along  with  him  and  were  waiting 
•rders  outside. 

**  Send  them  in  here,''  commanded  the  cavalier.  **  One  at  a  time, 
first,  Dancey;  the  other  after  Dancey  has  gone  out.** 

Oriole  instantly  vanished;  and  soon  after  the  tread  <^  a  heavily 
•hod  foot  was  heard  in  the  hall  outside. 

There  was  a  nngle  knock  followed  by  the  spoken  permission  to 
*  come  in." 

The  door  opened;  and  the  noted  deer-stealer  stepped  into  the 
apartment. 

He  was  a  man  of  immense  body  and  large  Ibnbs,  somewhat  loosely 
put  together;  but  from  sheer  size  seemingly  endowed  with  herculean 
strength. 

About  his  fkoe  there  was  nothing  to  indicate  any  evil  disposition. 
On  the  contrary,  it  had  a  cheerful  honest  look ;  which  rather  contra- 
dicted the  character  implied  by  the  appellation  of  deer-stealer.  As 
with  his  representative  of  modem  days,  the  poacher,  perhaps  the 
stealing  of  a  deer,  as  the  snaring  of  a  pheasant,  could  scarce  have 
been  looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  positive  theft.  At  all  events  Dick 
Dancey,  who  was  notorious  in  this  line,  was  otherwise  well  regarded 
oy  those  who  hail  dealings  with  him. 

He  was  no  ordinary  man — either  in  physical  or  mental  conforma- 
Honi  and  his  huge  muscular  form,  crowned  by  a  capacious  head^  i» 


131 

which  glanced  a  pair  of  dark-brown  eyes,  keen  ad  An  eagle's,  gai*  Lim 
an  imposing,  if  not  a  fearful  aspect.  He  was  dressed  in  a  doublet  of 
faded  cotton  velveteen,  with  trimks  of  coarser  material  reaching  down 
to  mid-thigh.  From  the  bottoms  of  these  to  the  tops  of  his  heavy 
cow-skin  boots,  his  limbs  were  protected  by  thick  woolen  hose ;  while 
on  his  head  appeared  a  full-crowned  cap  made  out  of  the  skin  of  a 
spotted  dog,  the  long  hair  ruflfing  out  around  the  rim. 

The  accoutrements  of  this  formidable  forester  were  of  the  simplest 
A  skin  wallet,  suspended  by  a  belt  passing  over  his  shoulders,  hung 
by  his  right  side ;  while  as  if  to  balance  it,  a  heavy  hanger,  half 
sword,  half  knife,  dangled  against  his  left  hip.  A  large  knotted  stick, 
carried  in  hand,  completed  his  equipment  for  the  journey,  of  the  nature 
of  which  he  seemed  to  have  had  some  previous  aequaintance. 

"Dancey !"  said  the  cavalier,  as  soon  as  the  deer-stealer  was  feir 
ly  inside  the  room,  **  I  want  you  upon  a  matter  of  business.    You  are 
an  accomplished  traveler,  I  know.    Have  you  any  objection  to  play 
errand-boy  for  a  couple  of  days  ? " 

"  To  carry  any  message  for  you,  sir,"  rejoined  the  woodman,  witk 
a  grotesque  effort  at  a  bow,  "Fd  esteem  an  honor,  'specially  after 
what  happened  this  day,  sir;  or  I  moat  say  yesterday,  seein'  it  be 
now  near  the  morrow  momin'.  My  daughter,  sir,  I  can  answer  for 
Bet,  she's  a  good-hearted  gurl,  sir,  though  maybe  a  little  too  forrard, 
or  that  sort ;  but  she  be  wonderful  obleeged,  sir,  to  you,  sir.'* 

"Poh-poh,  Dancey;  I  am  not  deserving  of  your  daughter's  thanks. 
What  1  did  in  her  behalf  was  only  a  duty ;  which  I  should  equally 
have  felt  bound  to  perform  for  the  humblest  individual  on  the  ground. 
Indeed,  your  beautiful  daughter  did  not  seem  to  stand  in  need  of  my 
mterference.  She  had  already  found  a  suflSciently  chivalric  champion 
in  bold  Robin  Hood " 

"Ah!  sir,"  interrupted  the  deer-stealer,  bending  down  towards 
his  patron,  and  speaking  in  a  tone  of  serious  confidence,  "  that's  ju»t 
where  the  trouble  be.  She  han't  thanked  Aim,  and  the  poor  fellow'a 
beside  hisself,  because  she  won't  make  more  o'  him.  I  do  all  I  can 
to  get  her  take  on  to  him ;  for  I  believe  Wull  Walford  to  be  a  worthy 
lad ;  an'  he  mean  well  for  my  gurl.  But  'taren't  no  use,  sir,  ne'er  a 
bit  on't.  As  the  sayin'  be,  one  man  may  take  a  horse  to  the  water, 
but  forty  can't  make  the  anymal  drink,  if  he  an't  a  mind  to." 

"  I  think,  friend  Dancey,"  quietly  rejoined  the  cavalier,  "you'll  do 
well  to  leave  your  daughter  free  to  follow  her  own  inclinations—  es- 
pedaUj  in  a  matter  of  the  kind  you  speak  of.    Perhaps  her  instinct! 


1S9 

•f  what's  best  for  tor,  in  that  regard,  may  be  more  trustworthy  than 
yours." 

"Ah !  sir,"  sighed  the  fond  parent  of  tie  beautiful  Betsey,  "  if  i'd 
kave  her  free  to  foUer  her  own  ways,  she'd  go  clear  to  the  devil— sh« 
would.  Not  that  she's  a  bad  sort,  my  Bet  aren't.  No,  no— she  bi 
ft  good-hearted  gurl,  as  I've  already  sayed ;  but  she's  too  forrard,  sir 
—too  forrard,  and  proud  enough  to  have  inclinins  for  them  as  be  faf 
above  her.  That's  why  she  looks  down  upon  WuU :  because  ye  see, 
iir,  he  be  only  a  poor  woodman ;  tho'  that's  as  much  as  I  be  myself/ 
The  cavalier  might  have  suspected  the  beautiful  Betsey  of  havf^ 
other  reasons  for  disliking  "  "Wull  Walford ; "  but  it  was  not  the  time 
to  talk  upon  such  a  theme ;  and  without  further  parley,  he  changed 
the  conversation  to  the  business  for  which  he  had  summoned  the  old 
woodman  into  his  presence. 

"  Here  are  six  letters  I  want  you  to  deliver,"  said  he,  taking  that 
number  from  the  table. 

"You  perceive,"  he  added,  holding  them  up  to  the  light  of  the 
lamp,  "  that  I  have  numbered  the  letters — in  the  order  in  which  you 
will  arrive  at  the  houses  where  you  are  to  deliver  them— so  that  there 
may  be  no  mistake.  I  need  not  add,  Dancey,  that  each  ia  to  be  cte- 
livered  with  ymir  own  hand,  or  else  not  at  all.** 

"  I  understand  what  you  mean,  sir.    I  don't  part  wi*  ere  a  one  o* 
'em,  'cept  to  the  party  hisself.    You  can  trust  Dick  Dancey  for  that.'* 
"I  know  it,  Dick;  and  that's  why  I'm  giving  you  all  this  trouble. 
'  only  wish  you  could  have  taken  these  others ;  but  it's  impossible. 
They're  for  a  different  section  of  the  country ;   and  must  go  by  an- 
other hand." 
"  Wull  Walford's  wi'  me,  sir.    Ye  sent  for  him,  too,  didn't  ye  ?  " 
**  I  did.    You  say  he  can  be  trusted,  I)ancey  ? " 
**  Oh,  sir !  there's  no  fear  o'  him.     He  ha'n't  no  love  for  ey ther 
Church,  or  King.    He  has  been  i'  the  stocks  once  too  often  for  that." 
"  Ah !  ah !  "  laughed  the  cavalier,  "  that  is  but  slight  recommen- 
dation of  his  trustworthiness.    It  don't  matter,  however.    He  shall 
not  know  much  of  the  nature  of  his  errand :  and  therefore,  there  will 
be  no  great  danger  in  his  carrying  the  letters." 

Dancey  saw  that  he  was  expected  to  take  the  road  at  once ;  KS:d 
without  further  parley,  he  started  off  on  his  distant  round  of  delivery; 
before  leaving  the  house,  however,  having  fortified  himself  against  th« 
raw  air  of  the  night,  by  a  stoup  of  string  ale — widi  which  Oriole  haJ 
been  directed  to  supply  him« 


184 

Will  Walford— who  among  the  dramatis  persm\^  of  the  morris 
dance  had  performed  the  role  of  Robin  Hood — ^next  presented  himself 
to  receive  his  chapter  of  instructions. 

This  worthy  had  doffed  his  tunic  of  Kendal  green,  and  now  figured 
in  his  proper  costume — ^a  jerkin  of  grey  homespun  russet,  with  wide 
petticoat  breeches  reaching  to  mid-thigh.  The  green  woolen  stock- 
ings, in  which  he  had  personated  the  outlaw,  still  appeared  upon  his 
legs — with  a  pair  of  heavy  hob-nailed  buskins  on  his  feet.  On  his 
head  was  the  high-crowned  hat  worn  at  the/t^e,  with  a  portion  of  the 
plume  of  cock's  feathers  still  sticking  behind  its  band  of  scarlet  col> 
ored  tape. 

Altogether  thecostimie  of  the  woodman  was  not  inelegant ;  and  the 
wearer  affected  a  certain  air  of  rustic  dandyism,  which  showed  him 
conceited  of  his  personal  appearance. 

He  had  but  slight  reason  for  this  vanity,  however.  At  the  ftU  he 
had  proved  himself  but  a  poor  representative  of  the  chivalrous  outlaw 
of  Sherwood  Forest;  and,  now  that  he  stood  partially  plucked  of  his 
borrowed  feathers,  he  looked  altogether  unlike  the  man,  whom  the 
beautiful  Bet  Dancey  would  have  chosen  for  her  champion. 

It  was  a  countenance,  though  naturally  of  an  evil  aspect,  more  sul- 
len than  sinister  ;  while  the  glance  of  a  watery  otter-like  eye,  along 
with  a  certain  expression  of  cowardice,  betrayed  insincerity. 

Will  Walford  was  evidently  a  man  not  to  be  trusted — ^very  far. 

He  appeared  like  one  who,  to  gratify  a  passion  would  turn  traitor 
upon  a  partisan. 

It  was  just  such  a  suspicion  of  his  character  that  hindered  Henry 
Holtspur  from  revealing  to  him  the  secret  contained  within  those  half- 
dozen  letters — which  he  now  entrusted  to  him  for  delivery,  after  giv- 
ing him  the  names  of  the  gentlemen  for  whom  they  were  intended. 

With  a  promise  to  perform  the  duty — apparently  sincere — the  wood- 
dan  walked  out  of  the  room ;  but,  as  he  turned  off  into  the  shadowy 
hall,  a  glance  flung  back  over  his  shoulder  betrayed  some  feeling  to- 
wards his  patron,  anything  but  friendly. 

Still  more  surly  was  the  look  cast  upon  the  young  Indian,  as  the 
latter — apparently  with  an  unwilling  grace — presented  him  with  the 
parting  cup. 

There  was  no  word  spoken,  no  health  drunk — ^neither  of  mastef 
nor  man.  The  ale  vessel  was  emptied  in  sullen  silence ;  and,  theu 
thanklessly  tossed  back  into  the  Hnds  from  which  it  had  been  Te 
edved. 


A  TBtO  OF   OOV^SIEBS.  lift 

A  grufr^good-night,"  and  Will  Waford,  striding  cff  through  tht 
eorridor,  was  soon  lost  to  view. 

Oriole  turned  hack  into  the  room  accompanied  by  his  master ,  and 
stopping  near  the  door,  stood  waiting  for  the  latter  to  look  around. 
On  his  doing  so,  the  Indian  elevated  his  right  arm ;  and  holding  it 
horizontally,  with  the  hack  of  his  hand  upwards,  he  described  A  widt 
curve  in  an  outward  direction  from  his  body. 

**  Good,  you  say  ?    Who  is  good  ?  " 

The  Indian  made  *  motion,  to  signify  that  he  had  not  finished  his 
pantomime. 

"  Ah  !  you've  something  to  add  ?    Go  on.** 

The  hand  was  again  carried  out  from  the  body  in  a  waving  direction ; 
but  this  time  with  the  thumb  turned  upwards. 

"  No,"  said  the  cavalier,  translating  the  sign,  '*notgood^  you  mean 
to  say  ?    He  who  has  just  gone  off  ? " 

Oriole  nodded  assent — at  the  same  time  placing  his  fore  and  middle 
fingers,  joined  together,  over  his  mouth ;  and  then  separating  them 
as  he  carried  them  away  from  his  lips — thus  signifying,  that  the  words 
of  the  woodman  would  proceed  in  two  dkections  :  otherwise,  that  he 
was  double  tongued, 

"  A  Uar — a  deceiver,  you  think,  Oriole  ?  I  have  some  suspicion  ol 
it  myself.  Do  not  be  afraid ;  I  shall  not  trust  him  too  far.  But  come  * 
my  faithful  red-skin ;  you  must  be  tired  sitting  up  ?  Close  the  door, 
to  keep  out  the  rats  and  robbers ;  and  get  to  your  bed.  I  hope  we 
will  have  no  more  visitors  to  trouble  us,  till  we've  both  had  a  good 
night's  rest.    Go  sleep,  my  lad." 

So  saying,  the  cavalier  lifted  up  the  lamp;  stepped  forth  from  thi 
SbrAiy;  and  betook  himself  to  liis  owft  sleeping  apart roeot. 


m 


m  COTTNTRY   QTTAiJTteSe 


CHAPTKE  XXV 


nr  oouKTBT  qvabths 


On  tiie  bold  brow  of  one  of  the  central  hills  of  Bulstrode  Park, 
tood  the  dwelling — ^a  palatial  structure  of  red  brick,  with  facings  ol 
#hite  stone — the  latter  transported  over  the  sea  from  the  quarries  ol 
Jaen. 

The  style  of  architecture  was  that  known  M  "Norman  " — ^with 
thick  massive  walls,  having  the  circular  Roman  arch  over  the  doors 
and  windows. 

In  front  was  a  space  appropriated  to  the  purposes  of  parterre  an^ 
shrubbery ;  while  to  the  rearward  extended  the  stables  and  other  of- 
fices— enclosing  an  extensive  couri-yard  between  them  and  the 
dwelling. 

In  the  rear  of  the  outbuildings  was  the  garden — approached  through 
ihe  court-yard  by  a  strong  iron  wicket;  while  encircling  all — grounds, 
gardens,  and  houses — ^was  a  deep  l^attlemented  moat,  which  imparted 
to  the  mansion  somewhat  of  the  character  of  a  fortified  castle. 

On  the  morning  after  the  fete  in  Bulstrode  Park,  the  court-yard  of 
the  dwelling  presented  an  unusual  spectacle.  A  stranger,  entering 
thiough  the  great  arched  gateway,  might  have  mistaken  the  square 
enclosure  inside  for  the  yard  of  a  barrack.  Horses  were  standing  in 
rows  around  the  walls — ^their  heads  tied  up  to  hooks  that  had  been 
freshly  driven  into  the  mason-work ;  while  men  in  topped  boots,  wide 
hangmg  hose,  and  grogram  shirts — with  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  el- 
bows — ^were  engaged  in  grooming  them. 

Leathern  buckets,  containing  water,  stood  by  the  heels  of  the  horses 
—where  the  pavement  appeared  splashed  and  wet. 

Other  men,  of  similar  appearance,  might  have  been  seen  seated  upon 
benches,  or  squatted  upon  the  coarse  woolen  covers  of  their  horses 
^-occupying  themselves  with  the  cleaning  of  armor,  furbishing  steel 
cuirasses,  cuisses,  and  helmets,  to  the  sheen  of  silver,  and  then  hang- 
ing them  against  the  walls,  under  a  sort  of  shed  that  had  been  specially 
erected  for  their  reception. 

Under  the  same  shelter  large  demi-pique  dragoon  saddles  had  boev 
placed  in  rows—  astride  of  long  trestles  set  up  for  the  purpose. 


Mfery  htnUMe  space  upon  tht  walls  was  occii]  ed  by  a  bridle,  a 
pair  of  spurs,  pistols,  or  holsters,  a  sword  with  its  belt,  oi  some  piec« 
either  of  offensive,  or  defensive,  armor. 

It  is  scarce  necessary  to  say,  that  these  horses  and  men — thesi 
saddles,  bridles,  arms,  and  armoi^  —were  the  component  parts  of  Cap- 
tain Scarthe's  troop  of  cuirassiers,  viewed  en  deshabille. 

What  with  the  neighing  of  stwds  that  did  not  belong  to  the  place, 
the  barking  of  dogs  that  did;  and  the  swearing  and  gibbering  of  three- 
score men  in  half-a-dozen  distinct  languages ;  the  usually  quiet  court- 
yard of  Sir  Marmaduke's  mansion  had  been  transformed  into  a  sort 
of  Pandemonium :  for,  to  say  w)thing  of  any  other  sounds,  the  con- 
versation usually  carried  on  among  Scarthe's  cuirassiers  was  not  unlike 
what  might  be  heard — could  one  only  penetrate  into  that  mythical 
locality. 

Notwithstanding  their  noted  ruffianism,  they  appeared  to  be  be- 
having better  than  was  their  wont — as  if  under  some  unusual  restraint. 
They  were  merry  enough — ^no  doubt  from  being  installed  in  such  oom- 
fortable  quarters,  but  they  did  not  appear  to  exhibit  any  offensive  at- 
titude toward  the  inmates  of  the  mansion. 

If  by  chance  a  pretty  housemaid  tripped  across  the  court-yard,  ob 
some  errand  to  the  garden,  or  elsewhere,  she  was  sure  of  being 
saluted  by  a  volley  of  jeux  d'esprit  in  French,  Flemish,  or  English ; 
but  beyond  this,  the  behavior  of  the  troopers  was  no  worse  than  that 
of  most  soldiers  similarly  quartered. 

Moreover,  the  men,  instead  of  being  permitted  within  the  mansion, 
were  contenting  themselves  to  sleep  in  the  out-houses ;  as  testified  by 
the  straw  beds  scattered  over  the  floors  of  the  granary  and  other 
ojfices,  in  which  they  had  passed  the  night. 

This  semi-courteous  tolerance  on  the  part  of  Captain  Scarthe'g 
followers  towards  their  involuntary  host — unlike  the  character  of  the 
former,  as  it  was  unexpected  by  the  latter —requires  some  explana- 
tion; which  the  conversation  between  Scarthe  himself  and  his  cornetfc 
occurring  at  that  very  moment,  will  supply. 

The  two  officers  were  in  a  large  sitting-room,  that  had  been  as- 
iigned  to  them  in  the  eastern  wing  of  the  dwelling.  It  is  scarce 
necessary  to  say  that  the  room  was  handsomely  furnished ;  for  tht 
mansion  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  besides  being  one  of  the  oldest, 
was  also  one  of  the  grandest  of  the  time.  The  walls  of  the  apart- 
ment specified  were  covered  with  Cordovan  leather,  stamped  with 
heraldic  devices;  the  huge  bay  window  was  huug  with  curtains  of 


i^  CCUNTEY   QUAE12i8* 

dark  green  velvet;  while  the  pieces  of  massive  ftimittire  exhibited 
sculptural  carvings  not  only  elaborate,  but  perhaps  of  higher  art  than 
ean  be  produced  at  the  present  time. 

A  massive  round  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  was  covered  by  a 
heavy  doth  of  rich  Damascus  pattern;  while  the  floor  itself  in  Um 
of  Brussels  or  Turkey  carpet  was  hidden  under  a  mattrass  of  smooth 
shining  rushes,  neatly  woven  into  a  variety  of  patterns. 

Scarthe  was  seated,  or  rather  reclining  on  a  fauteuU  covered  with 
crimson  velvet;  while  his  comet,  who  had  just  entered  the  room, 
itood  in  front  of  him— as  if  in  the  reception  or  delivery  of  a  mes- 
sage. 

Neither  of  the  officers  was  in  armor.  The  steel  plates  had  been 
laid  aside,  or  not  fastened  on  for  that  day. 

Scarthe  himself  was  habited  in  all  the  fantastic  frippery  fiishion- 
able  at  the  time.  A  doublet  of  yellow  satin,  with  trunk  hose  of  the 
same — the  latter  fringed  at  the  bottoms  with  silk  ribbons,  tipped 
with  tags  of  gold.  A  broad  Vandyke  collar  of  point  lace,  cuffs  to 
oorrespond,  and  a  scarlet  sash,  also  weighted  with  golden  tags, 
adorned  the  upper  part  of  his  body ;  while  boots  of  yellow  Cordovan 
leather,  with  snow-white  lawn  puffing  out  at  the  ample  tops,  com- 
pleted the  list  of  his  habiliments. 

Despite  his  pale  face;  despite  a  certain  sinister  cast  of  his  eounte- 
nance — not  always  to  be  observed — Richard  Scarthe  was  a  handsome 
man.  The  eyes  of  many  a  courtly  dame  had  deemed  him  more  than 
interesting;  and  as  he  reclined  against  the  back  of  the  fauteuU  in  aa 
attitude  of  perfect  ease,  he  looked  not  the  less  interesting  that  the 
scarlet  scarf  passed  over  his  right  shoulder  was  crossed  by  another 
of  more  sombre  hue — acting  as  %  slings  in  which  hii  right  arm 
rested. 

A  wounded  man — especially  if  the  damage  has  been  received  in  a 
duel — ^!S  a  dangerous  object  for  the  eye  of  a  sentimental  young  lady 
to  rest  upon.  It  might  be  that  Captain  Scarthe  was  acquainted  with 
this  not  very  recondite  truth.  It  might  be  that  some  such  thought 
had  been  in  his  mind  that  very  morning,  while  making  his  toilette 
before  the  mirror. 

The  comet  was  neither  so  handsome  as  his  saptain,  nor  so  daintily 
dressed;  and  yet  one  previously  acquainted  with  Stubbs*  rathef 
slovenly  habit,  could  not  have  failed  to  notice  on  that  partic^ilai 
morning  that  more  than  ordinary  pains  had  been  taken  with  hu 
^  nake-of ." 


131 

He  was  in  a  plain  military  suit  of  buff^  but  the  collar  and  cufPa 
were  clean ;  and  so  also  was  his  plump,  fresh-colored  face — a  con- 
dition in  which  it  was  not  always  to  be  found. 

His  hay-colored  hair,  too,  exhibited  something  of  a  gloss — aa 
though  the  brush  had  been  recently  and  repeatedly  passed  through 
it. 

There  was  a  flush  on  Stubbs*  cheek  with  a  soft  subdued  light  in 
his  eye,  that  betokened  some  unusual  emotion  in  his  mind— some 
thought  more  refined  than  ordinarily  held  dominion  there.  In  short, 
Stubbs  had  the  look  of  a  n\Au  who  had  been  so  unfortunate  as  to  fall 
in  lore. 

As  we  have  said,  the  cornet  was  standing.  He  was  silent  also ; 
as  if  he  had  already  delivered  his  report  and  was  awaiting  the 
reply. 

"  I'm  glad  they're  taking  it  so  quietly,"  said  the  captain  in  re- 
joinder to  whatever  communication  his  cornet  had  made.  "  Our 
fellows  are  not  used  to  sleeping  in  stables — with  a  fine  house  stand- 
ing close  by.  But  we're  in  England  now,  Stubbs ;  and  it  won't  do 
to  keep  up  the  fashions  of  Flanders.  By  so  doing  we  might  get  oui 
good  king  into  disgrace." 

"  "We  might,  by  Ged,"  stiffly  assented  Stubbs. 

"Besides,"  continued  the  captain,  speaking  rather  to  himself  than 
to  his  subaltern,  "  I've  another  reason  for  not  letting  them  forage  too 
freely,  just  now.  The  time  may  come,  when  it  will  be  more  profit- 
able to  put  the  screw  on.  The  cat  plays  with  the  mouse  before 
killing  it.    Did  the  vagabonds  grumble  at  my  order  ?  " 

«*  Not  a  bit.     No,  by  Ged !     They're  too  fond  of  you  for  that." 

**  Well,  comet ;  next  time  you  go  among  them,  you  can  promise 
them  plenty  of  beef  and  beer.  They  shall  have  full  rations  of  both, 
and  double  ones  too.  But  no  pickings  and  stealings.  Tell  them 
that  the  eighth  commandment  must  be  kept,  and  that  nothing  short 
of  hanging  will  satisfy  me  if  it  be  broken.  They  must  be  given  to 
understand  that  we're  no  longer  engaged  in  a  campaign,  though  thf 
Lord  knows  how  soon  we  may  be.  From  what  I  heard  and  saw 
yesterday  among  that  rabble,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  king  sets  ui 
to  cutting  their  throats  before  spring." 

"  Like  enough,"  quietly  assented  Stubbs. 

** I  don't  caie  how  soon,"  continued  the  cuirassier  captain,  musing 
is  h'^  spoke.  "  I  shouldn't  care  how  soon — but — that,  if  it  come  is 
Uows,  Wf'U  ^9  qaUm)  ^way  from  here]^  and  after  the  infernal  marcbr 


140  M    OOUJSTTEY    QUARTERS.  . 

Ings  and  cotmtermaicMngs  we've  had  for  the  last  six  uaonths,  I  feei 
inclined  for  a  little  rest.  I  think  I  could  enjoy  the  dolce  far  nienU 
devihsh  well  down  here — that  is,  for  a  month  or  so.  Nice  quarterb^ 
aVtthej?" 

"  Are,  by  Ged !  " 

**Nice  girls,  too — ^you've  seen  them,  haven't  you  ?** 

"  Just  a  glimpse  of  them  through  the  window,  as  I  was  dressing 
There  were  two  of  them  out  on  the  terrace." 

"There  are  only  two — a  daughter  and  a  niece.  Come,  comet; 
declare  yourself !     Which  ?  ' ' 

"Well,  the  little  im's  the  one  to  my  taste.  She^8  •  beauty,  by 
Ged!" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  I  might  have  known  it,"  cried  the  captain. 
•*  Well — ^well — well !  "  he  continued,  speaking  to  himself  in  a  care 
less  drawl.  "  I  believe,  as  I  always  did,  that  nature  has  formed 
some  souls  utterly  incapable  of  appreciating  her  highest  works.  Now 
here  is  a  man  who  actually  thinks  that  dapper  little  prude  more 
beautiful  than  her  queenlike  cousin;  a  woman  that  to  me — a  man  of 
true  taste  and  experience — is  known  to  possess  qualities — ah  !  such 
qualities !  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  Stubbs  sees  but  the  boddice  and  skirt. 
I  can  perceive  something  more — never  mind  what — the  soul  that  is 
concealed  under  them.  He  sees  a  pretty  lip — a  sparkling  eye — a 
neat  nose — ^a  shining  tress ;  and  he  fails  over  head  and  ears  in  lo>^ 
with  one  or  other  of  these  objects.  To  me  'tis  neither  lip,  glance, 
nor  tress;  'tis  the  tout  ensemble — lips,  nose,  eyes,  cheeks,  and 
thevelure — soul  and  body  all  combined." 

"By  Ged!  that  would  be  perfection,"  cried  Stubbs,  who  stood 
listening  to  the  enraptured  soliloquy. 

"  So  it  would,  cornet." 

«*  But  where  will  you  find  such  ?    Nowhere,  I  should  say  ?  ** 

"  You  are  blind,  cornet — stone  blind,  or  you  might  have  seen  it  thia 
morning." 

"I  admit,"  said  the  cornet,  "I've  seen  something  very  near  it— 
the  nearest  it  I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  I  didn't  think  there  was  a  girl 
in  all  England  as  pretty  as  that  creature.    I  did'nt,  by  Ged!  " 

"What  creature?" 

"The  one  we've  been  speaking  of,  the  Httle  one — Mistress  Lora 
Lovelace  is  her  name.    I  had  it  from  her  maid." 

"  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  You're  a  fool,  Stubbs,  and  it's  fortunate  you  ar« 
f9'     Fortunate  for  me^  I  mean.     If  you'4  \m^  gifted  witk  ^t^^ 


141 

ftiate  or  sense,  we  might  have  been  rivals ;  and  that,  my  killing 
comet,  would  have  been  a  great  misfortmie  for  m^.  As  it  is,  our 
roads  lie  in  dififerent  directions.  You  see  something — I  can't,  nor 
can  teU  you  what — in  Mistress  Lora  Lovelace  I  see  that  in  her 
cousin  which  I  can,  and  do  comprehend.  I  see  perfection.  YeS| 
Siubbs,  this  morning  you  have  had  before  your  eyes  not  only  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  shire  of  Bucks,  but,  perhaps,  the  love* 
liest  in  all  England.  And  yet  you  did  not  know  it !  Never  mind, 
worthy  oomet.  Chaeun  d  $(m  godt.  How  lucky  m  don't  all  thmk 
aUke!" 

"Is,  by  ded! ''  assented  the  oomet  in  hia  characteristio  &shionv 
'  I  like  the  little  'un  best." 

**  You  shall  have  her  all  to  yourself.  And  now,  Stubbs,  as  I  can't 
leave  my  room  with  this  woxmded  wing  of  mine,  go  and  seek  an 
interview  with  Sir  Marmaduke.  Smooth  over  the  little  rudenesses 
of  yesterday;  and  make  known  to  him,  in  a  roundabout  way — ^you 
understand — ^that  we  had  a  cup  of  sack  too  much  at  the  inn.  Say 
something  of  our  late  campaign  in  Flanders,  and  the  free  life  we  had 
been  accustomed  to  lead  while  there.  Say  what  you  hke ;  but  sea 
that  it  be  the  thing  to  soften  him  down  and  make  him  our  friend  I 
don't  think  the  worthy  knight  is  so  disloyal,  after  all.  It's  some- 
thing about  this  young  sprig's  being  recalled  from  Court,  that  has 
got  him  into  trouble  with  the  king.  Do  all  you  can  to  make  him 
friendly  to  us.  Remember,  if  you  fail,  we  may  get  no  nearer  to  that 
brace  of  beauties,  than  looking  at  them  through  a  window,  as  you 
did  this  morning.  It  would  be  of  no  use  forcing  ourselves  into  their 
company.  If  we  attempt  that.  Sir  Marmaduke  may  remove  hia 
chicks  into  some  other  nest;  and  then,  comet,  our  quarters  would  be 
dull  enough." 

"I'll  see  Sir  Marmaduke  at  onoe?^  said  the  subaltern,  inter- 
fogativoly. 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  I  suppose  they  have  breakfasted  ere 
this.  These  country  people  keep  early  hours.  Try  the  library. 
No  doubt  you'll  find  him  there:  he's  reported  to  be  a  man  oi 
booksV' 

"ITigothere,  byGed!" 

And  with  this  characteristic  speech,  the  cornet  hastened  out  of  the 
room. 

**  I  must  win  this  woman,**  said  Scarthe,  rising  to  his  feet,  an j 
ftridin^  Wom  the  flo9r  with  an  «r  of  resolution ;  "  /  ^mt  m*i  h$r^ 


^^  m  octorrRT  tjuARTEBft. 

(f  /  should  losi  my  aoul !  Oh !  beauty !  beauty  >  the  true  and  onl) 
•nchanter  on  earth.  Thou  canst  change  the  tiger  into  a  tender  lamb^ 
or  transform  the  l%mb  into  a  fierce  tiger.  What  was  I  yesterday 
but  a  tiger  ?  To-day  subdued — ^tamed  to  the  softness  of  a  suckling 
'Sdeath !  Had  I  but  known  that  such  a  woman  was  watching — ^foi 
she  was  there,  no  doubt — ^I  might  have  avoided  that  accursed  encoun* 
ter.  She  saw  it  all — she  must  have  seen  it !  Struck  down  from  my 
hoi  se,  defeated— 'Sdeath ! " 

The  exclamation  hoarsely  hissing  through  his  teeth,  with  the  fierce 
expression  that  accompanied  it,  showed  how  bitterly  he  bore  his 
humiliation.  It  was  not  only  the  pain  of  his  recent  wound — though 
that  may  have  added  to  his  irritation — ^but  the  sting  of  defeat  that 
was  rankling  in  his  soul-— defeat  under  such  eyes  as  those  of  Marion 
Wade! 

"'Sdeath!''  he  again  ezclauned,  striding  nervously  to  and  fro. 
•*  Who  and  what  can  the  fellow  be?  Only  his  name  could  they  tell 
me — nothing  more — Holtspur !  Not  known  to  Sir  Marmaduke  before 
yesterday !  He  cannot,  then,  have  been  known  to  ^  7  He  cannot 
have  had  an  opportunity  for  that  1    Not  yet — ^not  yet !  '* 

"Perhaps,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause,  his  brow  once  more 
brightening,  "  they  have  never  met  ?  She  may  not  have  witnessed 
the  unfortunate  afiaur  ?  Is  it  certain  she  was  on  the  ground  ?  I  did 
not  see  her. 

"  After  all,  the  man  may  be  married  ?  He's  old  enough.  But  no* 
(he  glove  hi  his  hat — ^I  had  forgotten  that.  It  cotdd  scarcely  be  hii 
wiib's !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  what  signifies  ?  I've  been  a  blessed  Benediofi 
myself;  and  yet  while  so,  have  worn  my  beaver  loaded  with  love- 
tokens.  I  wonder  to  whom  that  glove  belonged.  Ha !  Death  and 
the  devil !»» 

Scarthe  had  been  pacing  the  apartment,  not  from  side  to  side,  bat 
in  every  direction,  as  his  wandering  thoughts  carried  him.  As  the 
blasphemous  exclamation  escaped  from  his  lips,  he  stopped  suddenly 
•—his  eyes  becoming  fixed  upon  some  object  before  him. 

On  a  small  table  that  stood  in  a  shadowed  corner  of  the  apartment 
a  glove  was  lying — as  if  carelessly  thrown  there.  It  was  a  lady's 
glove,  with  gauntlet  attached,  embroidered  with  gold  wire  and  bor- 
dered vp  ith  lace.  It  appeared  the  very  counterpart  of  that  at  th« 
moment  occupying  his  thoughts — ^the  glove  that  had  the  day  before 
decorated  the  hat  of  Henry  Holtspw. 

f'Bj  heaven,  tia  tl^  9am$ /"  he  exdaimedi  thf  oolor  ipra^^ing  hi| 


m  aOUNTBT  QUABTER8.  143 

eheeks  as  he  stood  gazing  upon  it.  ^No — ^not  the  same,*'  he  eon* 
tinued,  taking  up  the  glove,  and  scrutinizing  it  with  care.  **  Not  the 
same,  but  its  mate — its  fellow !  The  resemblance  is  exact;  the  laoe^ 
the  embroidery,  the  design — all.    I  cannot  be  mistaken.'* 

And  as  he  repeated  this  last  phrase,  he  struck  his  heel  fiercelj 
apon  the  floor. 

"There's  a  mystery,"  he  continued,  after  the  first  painful  pulsa- 
tions of  his  heart  had  passed.  '*  Not  known  to  Sir  Marmaduke  until 
yesterday !  Not  known  to  Sir  Marmaduke's  daughter !  And  yet 
wearing  her  gaimtlet  conspicuously  in  the  crown  of  his  hat  ?  Was  it 
hers?  Is  this  hers?  May  it  not  belong  to  the  other — the  niece ? 
No— no — though  small  enough,  'tis  too  large  for  her  tiny  claw.  'Tis 
the  glove  of  Marion ! " 

For  some  seconds  Scarthe  stood  twirling  the  piece  of  doeskin  be^ 
tween  his  fingers  and  examining  it  on  all  sides.  A  feeling  far  stronger 
than  mere  curiosity  prompted  him  to  this  minute  inspection ;  aa 
would  be  divined  by  the  dark  shadows  rapidly  chasing  each  other 
over  his  pallid  brow. 

His  looks  betrayed  both  anguish  and  anger,  as  he  anphaticaU^ 
repeated  the  phrase — "  Forestalled,  by  heaven ! " 

"  Stay  there !  "  he  continued,  thrusting  the  glove  under  the  breast 
of  his  doublet.  "Stay  there,  thou  devilish  tell-tale— close  to  ths 
bosom  thou  hast  filled  with  bitter  thoughts.  Trifle  as  thou  seemest» 
I  may  yet  find  thee  of  serious  service." 

And  with  a  oountenance  in  which  bitter  chagrin  was  blended  witk 
dark  determinatioii,  hs  sontmued  to  pace  excitedly  9fvt  ths  flsor  if 
lbs  iqiMurtniHit. 


144  THB  BOUDOEEL 


CHAPTER  XXVL 


IBB  BOUDOIB. 


Th«  warm  golden  light  of  an  autnmn  sun  was  struggling  throogl 
&e  half-dosed  curtains  of  a  window  in  the  mansion  of  Sir  Marm^^ 
duke  Wade. 

It  was  still  early  in  ifie  afternoon;  and  the  window  in  question, 
opening  from  an  upper  story  and  facing  westward,  commanded  out 
of  the  finest  views  of  the  park  of  Bulstrode.  The  sunbeams  slant- 
ing through  the  parted  tapestry  Ut  up  an  apartment,  which  by  its 
light  luxurious  style  of  furniture  and  costly  decoration  proclaimed 
itself  to  be  a  boudoir  or  room  exclusively  appropriated  to  the  use  of 
a  lady. 

At  that  h^ur  there  was  other  and  better  evidence  of  such  appro- 
priation, since  the  lady  herself  was  seen  standing  in  the  embayment 
of  its  window,  under  the  arcade  formed  by  the  drooping  folds  of  the 
curtains. 

The  sunbeams  glittered  upon  tresses  of  a  kindred  color — among 
which  they  seemed  deUghted  to  linger.  They  flashed  into  eyes  as 
blue  as  the  canopy  whence  they  came ;  and  the  rose-colored  clouds 
they  had  themselves  created  in  the  western  sky  were  not  of  fairer 
efflilgence  than  the  cheeks  they  appeared  so  fondly  to  kiss. 

These  were  not  in  their  brightest  bloom*  Though  slightly  blanched 
neither  were  they  pale.  The  strongest  emotion  could  not  produce 
absolute  pallor  on  the  cheeks  of  Marion  Wade — ^where  the  rose  never 
altogether  gave  place  to  the  lily. 

The  young  lady  stood  in  the  window  looking  outward  Apon  the 
park.  With  inquiring  glance  she  swept  its  undulating  outlines, 
traced  the  softly-rounded  tops  of  the  chestnut  trees,  scrutinized  the 
curving  lines  of  the  copses,  saw  the  spotted  kine  roamiag  slowly 
o'er  the  lea,  and  the  deer  darting  svriftly  across  the  sward ;  but  none 
of  these  sights  were  the  theme  of  her  thoughts,  or  fixed  her  attention 
for  more  than  a  passing  moment. 

There  was  but  one  object  within  that  field  of  vision  upon  which 
\m  ejes  rested  finr  any  length  of  time,  not  constantly,  but  witt 


THE   BOTTDOra.  141 

glances  stra3diig  from  it  only  to  return.  This  was  a  gate  between  tw9 
massive  piers  of  mason-work,  grey  and  iyy-grown.  It  was  not  the 
principal  entrance  to  the  park,  but  one  of  occasional  use,  which 
opened  near  the  western  extremity  of  the  enclosure  into  the  main 
road.  It  was  the  nearest  way  for  any  one  going  in  the  direction  or 
Stone  Dean,  or  coming  thither. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  architecture  of  those  ivy-covered  piers 
to  accoimt  for  the  almost  continuous  scrutiny  given  to  it  by  Mistress 
Marion  Wade,  nor  yet  in  the  old  gate  itself— -a  mass  of  red-colored 
rusty  iron.  Neither  was  new  to  her.  She  had  looked  upon  that 
entraiM^e — which  opened  directly  in  front  of  her  chamber  window — 
every  day,  almost  every  hour  of  her  life.  Why,  then,  was  she  now 
so  assiduously  gazing  upon  it  ? 

Her  soliloquy  will  furnish  the  explanation. 

"  He  promised  he  would  come  to-day.  He  told  Walter  so  before 
leaving  the  camp — ^the  scene  of  his  conquest  over  one  who  appears  to 
hate  him — far  more,  over  one  who  loves  him !  No.  The  last  triumph 
eamo  not  then.  Long  before  was  it  obtained.  Ah  me  !  it  must  be 
love,  or  why  should  I  so  long  to  see  him  ? " 

'*  Bear  cousin,  how  is  this  ?  Not  dressed  for  dinner  ?  'Tis  within 
five  minutes  of  the  hoar." 

It  was  the  pretty  Lora  Lovelace  who,  tripping  into  the  room,  asked 
these  questions — Lon  fresh  from  her  toilette  and  radiant  with 
■miles. 

There  was  no  heaviness  on  her  heart — ^no  shadow  on  her  counte- 
nance. Walter  and  she  had  spent  the  morning  together,  and  whatever 
may  have  passed  between  them,  it  had  left  behind  no  trace  of  • 
filoud. 

*'I  do  not  hitend  dressing,"  rejoined  Marion;  ''I  shall  dine  as  yoa 
see  me.'' 

^'What,  Marion!  and  these  strange  gentlemen  to  be  at  the 
table!" 

"  A  fig  for  the  strange  gentlemen !  It's  just  for  that  I  won't 
dress.  Nay,  had  my  father  not  made  a  special  request  of  it,  I  should 
not  go  to  the  table  at  all.  I'm  rather  surprised,  cousin,  at  your 
taking  such  pains  to  be  agreeable  to  guests  thus  forced  upon  us. 
For  which  of  the  two  are  you  setting  your  snare.  Little  Lora — the 
oonceited  captain  or  his  stupid  subaltern  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  said  Lora,  with  a  reproachful  pouting  of  her  pretty  lips, 
"jrou  4o  me  wron^  Marion.    I  have  not  taken  pains  on  their  suy 


140 

eount.    There  are  to  be  others  at  the  table  besides  the  strang^rt.'* 

**  Who  ?  "  demanded  Marion. 

**  Why — why,*' — Btammered  Lora,  slightlj  blushmg  as  ake  madi 
answer,  ''why,  of  eourse  there  is  nnde  Sir  Marmadoke.*' 

"ThataU?" 

••And — and — cousin  Walter,  as  well."* 

**  Ha !  ha !  Lora,  it's  an  original  idea  of  yours  to  be  dressing  with 
such  studied  care  for  &ther  and  Walter.  Well,  here  goes  to  get 
ready.  I  don't  intend  to  make  any  further  sacrifice  to  the  rigor  of 
fiushion  than  just  pull  off  these  sleeves,  dip  my  fingers  into  a  basin 
of  water,  and  tuck  up  my  tresses  a  little.'* 

••O  Marion!" 

''Not  a  pin,  nor  a  ribbon,  except  what's  necessary  to  hold  up  my 
troublesome  horse-load  of  hair.     I've  a  good  mind  to  cut  it  short 
Sooth !  I  feel  like  pulling  some  of  it  out  through  sheer  yexation." 

"  Vexation— with  what  ?  " 

''What — ^what — ^why,  being  bored  with  these  blustering  fi^ows— 
especially  when  one  wants  to  be  alone." 

'*  But,  cousin,  these  gentlemen  cannot  help  their  being  here.  They 
baye  to  obey  the  commands  of  the  king.  They  are  behaying  yery 
dyilly.  Walter  has  told  me  so.  Besides,  undo  has  eiyoined  upon 
OS  to  treat  them  with  courtesy." 

*'  Aha !  they'll  have  scant  courtesy  from  me.  All  they'll  get  will 
be  a  yet  and  a  no;  and  that  not  yery  dyilly,  unless  they  desenre 
It" 

"But  If  they  deserye  H?"» 

"If  they  do—" 

"  Walter  says  they  haye  offered  promise  apologies  and  regrets.** 

"For  what?" 

"For  the  necessity  they  are  under  of  becoming  unde's  guests.*' 

"I  don't  belieye  so— no,  not  a  bit.  Look  at  theur  rude  beharior  at 
the  yery  beginning— kissing  that  bold  girl,  Bet  Dancey,  fa;  the  pres- 
ence of  a  thousand  spectators!  Ha!  well  punished  was  Captain 
Scarthe  for  his  presumption.  He  feel  regret !  I  don't  believe  it, 
Lora.  That  man's  a  hypocrite.  There's  falsehood  written  in  his 
fiice,  along  with  a  large  quantity  of  conceit ;  and  as  for  the  cornet-^ 
the  only  thing  discernible  in  his  countenance  is — stupidity." 

As  Marion  pronoimced  the  last  word,  she  had  completed  her 
toilette — all  that  she  had  promised  or  intended  to  make.  She  was 
MM  who  needed  not  to  take  much  trouble  before  the  mirror.   Dressed 


14t 

*r  in  deshahitle  she  was  the  samd — ever  beautiful.    Nature  had  madt 
her  in  its  fairest  mould,  and  art  could  not  alter  the  design. 

Her  preparations  for  the  dinner  table  consisted  simply  in  replacing 
her  morning  boddice  by  one  without  sleeves — which  displayed  her 
snow-white  arms  nearly  to  the  shoulders.  Having  adjusted  this,  sht 
inserted  one  hand  under  her  wavy  golden  hair,  and  adroitly  turning 
its  profuse  tresses  round  her  wrist,  she  rolled  them  into  a  spiral  coil, 
which  by  means  of  a  pair  of  large  hair-pins  she  confined  at  the  back 
of  her  head.  Then  dipping  her  hands  into  a  basin  of  water,  shf 
shook  off  the  crystal  drops  from  the  tips  of  her  roseate  fingers, 
wiped  them  on  a  white  napkin,  flung  the  towel  upon  the  table,  and 
cried  "  Come  on !  ** 

Followed  by  the  light-hearted  Lora,  she  descended  to  the  dining- 
hall,  where  the  two  officers  were  already  awaiting  their  presence. 

A  dinner-party  under  such  circumstances  as  that  which  assembled 
round  the  table  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade — small  in  numbers  though 
it  was — could  not  be  otherwise  than  coldly  formal. 

The  host  himself  was  polite  to  his  uninvited  guests — studiously 
go;  but  not  all  his  habitual  practice  of  couA*tly  manners  could  conceal 
a  certain  embarrassment  that  now  and  then  exhibited  itself  in  inci- 
dents of  a  trivial  character. 

On  his  part,  the  cuirassier  captain  used  every  effort  to  thaw  the 
ice  that  surrounded  him.  He  lost  no  opportunity  of  expressmig  his 
regret  at  being  the  recipient  of  such  a  peculiar  hospitality ;  nor  was 
he  at  all  backward  in  censm*ing  his  royal  master  for  making 
him  so. 

But  for  an  occasional  distrustful  glance  visible  under  the  shaggy 
eyebrows  of  the  knight — ^visible  only  at  intervals,  and  to  one  closely 
watching  him — it  might  have  been  supposed  that  Sir  Marmaduke  was 
warming  to  the  words  of  his  wily  guest.  That  glance,  however,  told 
of  a  distrust,  not  to  be  removed  by  the  softest  and  most  courteous  ol 
speeches, 

Marion  adhered  to  her  promise  and  spoke  only  in  monosyllables, 
though  her  fine  open  countenance  expressed  neither  distrust  nor  disK 
like.  The  daughter  of  Sir  MarmadvJje  Wade  was  too  proud  to 
appear  otherwise  than  indifferent.  If  she  felt  contempt,  there  was 
no  evidence  of  it — neither  in  the  curling  of  her  lipj  nor  the  cast  of 
her  ej'e. 

Equally  in  vain  did  Scartho  scrutinize  her  countenance  for  a  sign 
if  admiration.     His  most  gallant  speeches  were  received  witV  an  at> 


14$ 

of  frigid  indifferetice  -his  wittiest  sallies  elicited  only  sucn  smiles  14 

courtesy  could  not  refuse. 

If  Marion  at  any  time  showed  sign  of  emotion,  it  was  T\'hen  hei 
glance  was  turned  towards  the  window,  apparently  in  quest  ol'  soma 
object  that  should  be  visible  outside.  Then  her  bosom  might  be  seen 
swelling  with  a  suppressed  sigh — as  if  her  thoughts  were  dwelling  on 
one  who  was  absent. 

Slight  as  were  these  manifestations,  they  did  not  escape  the  obf^er- 
Tation  of  the  experienced  Scar  the. 

He  saw  and  half  interpreted  their  meaning — his  brow  blackening 
under  bitter  fancies  thus  conjured  up. 

Though  seated  with  his  back  to  the  window,  more  than  onc^  hn 
turned  half  round  to  see  if  there  was  any  one  in  sight. 

When  the  wiue  had  been  passed  several  times,  making  him  less 
cautious,  his  glances  of  admiration  became  bolder,  his  speeches  less 
courteous  and  reserved. 

The  cornet  talked  little. 

It  was  enough  for  him  to  endorse  the  sentiments  of  his  superior 
oiBcer  by  an  occasional  monosyllable. 

Though  silent,  Stubbs  was  not  altogether  satisl^ed  with  what  was 
jfiAssing.  The  by-play  between  Walter  and  Lora,  who  were  seated 
together,  was  far  from  pleasing  to  him.  He  had  not  been  many 
minutes  at  the  table  before  discovering  that  the  cousins  had  an 
amiable  inclination  towards  each  other,  which  carried  him  to  the  con- 
clusion that  in  the  son  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  he  would  find  a  very 
formidable  rival. 

Even  on  the  blank  page  of  his  stolid  countenance  soon  becam* 
discernible  the  lines  that  indicate  jealousy,  while  in  his  white  skew- 
bald eyes  could  be  detected  a  glance  not  a  whit  ra3re  amiable  than 
that  wrhich  flashed  more  determinedly  from  the  dark  orbs  of  the 
luirassier  captain. 

The  dinner  passed  without  any  unpleasant  cmitretemps.  The  party 
leparated  after  a  reasonable  time — Sir  Marmaduke  excusing  himself 
•2pon  some  matter  of  business — the  ladies  having  already  made  tlioii 
%0T:rtesy  to  their  stranger  guests. 

Walter,  rather  from  politeness  than  any  inclination,  remained  a 
while  longer  in  the  company  of  the  two  ofijcers,  but  as  the  com- 
panionsliip  was  kept  up  under  a  certain  feeling  of  restraint,  he  was 
only  too  well  pleased  to  join  them  in  toasting  Tlie  King  ! — which, 
lik«  our  modern  lay  of  royalty,  was  regarded  as  the  fiiude  to  ever/ 
ipocies  of  entertainment. 


Walter  straj-^  off  in  search  of  his  sister  and  cousin — most  likely 
•nly  the  latter ;  while  the  officers,  not  yet  invited  into  the  sanctuary 
of  the  family  circle,  retired  to  their  room — to  talk  over  the  incidenti 
of  the  dinner,  or  pbt  some  scheme  for  securing  the  indulgence  of 
those  amoroui  inolinationa  vith  which  both  were  now  thoroughly 
imbued. 


OHAPTSR  XXVIL 


mDlEVHSTBUS. 


Marion  Wade  was  alone — ^as  before,  standing  in  her  window  nndef 
the  arcade  of  parted  tapestry — as  before,  with  eyes  bent  on  the  iron 
gate  and  ivy-wreathed  portals  that  supported  it. 

Everything  was  as  before :  the  spotted  kine  lounging  slowly  over 
the  lea;  the  fallow  deer  browsing  upon  the  sward ;  and  the  birds 
singing  their  sweet  songs,  or  winging  their  way  from  copse  to  copse. 

The  Sim  only  had  changed  position.  Lower  down  in  the  sky,  he 
was  sinking  still  lower — softly  and  slowly,  upon  a  couch  of  purple- 
colored  clouds.  The  crest  of  the  Chilterns  were  tinted  with  a  roseate 
hue ;  and  the  summit  of  the  Beacon-hill  appeared  in  a  blaze,  as  when 
by  night  its  red  fires  had  been  wont  to  give  warning  of  the  approach 
of  a  hostile  fleet  by  the  channels  of  the  Severn. 

Brilliant  and  lovely  as  was  the  sunset,  Marion  Wade  saw  it  not; 
•r,  if  seeing,  it  was"with  an  eye  that  stayed  not  to  admire. 

That  little  space  of  rust-colored  iron  and  grey  stone-work —jus^ 
visible  under  the  hanging  branches  of  the  trees — had  an  attraction  for 
her  far  outstripping  the  gaudy  changes  of  the  simset. 

Thus  ran  her  reflectionj : — "  Walter  said  he  would  come — perhaps 
not  before  evening.  'Tis  a  visit  to  papa— only  him  !  What  can  be 
its  purpose!  Maybe  something  relating  to  the  trouble  that  has 
fallen  upon  us  ?  'Tis  said  he  is  against  the  king;  and  for  the  people, 
Twas  OA  that  account  Dorothy  Dayrell  spoke  slightingly  of  him, 


160 

For  that  shall  not  I?  No — ^never— never !  She  said  he  must  hi 
peasant  bom.  Tis  a  false  slander.  He  is  gentle,  or  I  know  not  a 
gentleman. 

**  What  am  I  to  think  of  yesterday — ^that  girl,  and  her  flowers  ?  I 
wish  there  had  not  been  a  fete.    I  shall  never  go  to  another ! 

'*  1  was  so  happy  when  I  saw  my  glove  upon  his  beaver.  If  'tis 
gone,  and  those  flowers  have  replaced  it,  I  shall  not  care  to  live 
longer — ^not  a  day — ^not  an  hour ! " 

A  sudden  change  came  over  both  the  attitude  and  reflections  of 
Marion  Wade. 

Some  one  had  opened  the  gate !  It  wai  a  man— a  rider— bestriding 
a  black  horse! 

An  instinct  stronger  than  ordinary  aided  m  the  identification  oi 
this  approaching  horseman.  The  eyes  of  love  need  not  the  aid  of  a 
glass ;  Marion  saw  him  with  such. 

"  It  is  he ! "  she  repeated  in  full  confidence,  as  the  cavalier,  emerg- 
ing fh>m  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  commenced  asceocdng  the  slope  oi 
the  hill. 

Marion  kept  her  eyes  bent  upon  the  advancing  horseman,  in  strain- 
ing gaze;  and  thus  continued  until  he  had  arrived  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  moat  that  surrounded  the  mansion.  One  might  have 
supposed  that  she  was  still  uncertain  as  to  his  identity. 

But  her  glance  was  directed  neither  upon  his  face  nor  form,  but 
towards  a  point  higher  than  either — ^toward  the  brow  of  his  beaver — 
where  something  white  appeared  to  have  fixed  her  regard.  This  soon 
assumed  the  form  and  dimensions  of  a  lady's  gauntlet — its  slender 
fingers  tapering  towards  the  crown  of  the  hat,  and  outlined  conspi- 
cuously against  the  darker  back-ground. 

"  It  is  the  glove — my  glove ! "  said  she,  gasping  out  the  words,  as 
if  the  recognition  had  relieved  her  from  some  terrible  suspense. 
"  Yes,  it  is  still  there.    0  joy ! " 

All  at  once  the  thrill  of  triiunph  became  checked,  by  a  contrary 
•motion.  Something  red  was  seen  protruding  from  under  the  rim  of 
the  beaver,  and  close  to  the  glove.    Was  it  %  flower  1 

The  flowers  given  by  Maid  Marian  were  of  that  color.  Was  il 
one  of  them  ? 

Quick  as  the  suspicion  had  arisen  did  it  pass  away.  The  red  object 
fparkled  in  the  sun.  It  was  not  a  flower;  but  the  garnet  clasp  thai 
held  the  gauntlet  in  its  place.  Marios,  remembered  the  clasp.  8hi 
had  noticed  it  tha  day  before. 


ISl 

She  breathed  freely  again.  Her  heart  was  happwr  than  ever.  Sh« 
ras  too  happy  to  gaze  longer  on  that  which  was  giying  her  content. 
She  dreaded  to  exhibit  her  blushing  cheek  to  the  eyes  of  the  man* 
whose  presence  caused  it  to  blush;  and  she  retired  behind  the  curtain* 
to  e^joy  unobserved  a  moment  of  delicious  emotion. 

Her  happiness  did  not  hinder  her  from  once  more  returning  to  the 
window;  but  too  late  to  see  the  cavalier  as  he  passed  across  the 
parterre.  She  knew*  however,  that  he  had  entered  the  house ;  and 
was  at  that  moment  below  in  the  library — ^holding  with  her  father 
the  promised  interview. 

She  knew  not  the  purpose  of  his  visit.  It  could  not  have  reference 
to  herself.  She  could  only  conjecture  its  connection  with  the  political 
incidents  of  the  time ;  they  were  talked  of  in  every  house — even  to 
dividing  the  sentiments  of  the  family  circle,  and  disturbing  the  tran- 
quillity of  more  than  one  erst  happy  home. 

She  was  aware  that  the  visit  of  Henry  Holtspur  was  only  to  her 
father.  He  had  oome,  and  might  go  as  he  had  come,  without  the 
chance  of  her  exchanging  speech  with  him;  and  as  this  thought  came 
into  her  mind,  she  half  regretted  having  retired  from  the  window. 
By  so  doing,  the  had  lost  the  very  opportunity  long  desired— often 
wished  for  in  vain. 

Only  a  word  or  two  had  been  spoken  between  them  on  the  day 
before — ^the  stiff  ceremonial  phrases  of  introduction — ^after  which  the 
incident  of  the  duel  had  so  abruptly  parted  them. 

Now  tiiat  Holtspur  had  been  presented  by  a  brother — and  with  the 
sanction  of  a  father — what  reason  was  there  for  reserve !  Even 
prudery  could  not  show  excuse  for  keeping  aloof.  She  should  have 
spoken  to  him  from  the  balcony.  She  should  have  welcomed  him 
to  the  house.  He  must  have  seen  her  ^kihe  window  ?  What  reflec- 
tion might  he  have,  about  her  retiring — as  if  to  hide  herself  h^m  his 
gaze  ?  He  would  scarce  consider  it  courtesy  ?  He  might  fancy  he 
had  given  her  some  offense — perhaps  in  that  very  act  which  had 
produced  such  an  opposite  impression — the  triumphant  exposure  of 
her  glove  ? 

Perhaps  he  might  take  offense  at  her  coy  conduct,  and  pluck  the 
token  from  its  place  ?  How  could  she  convey  to  him  the  knowledge 
of  her  happiness  at  beholding  it  there  ?  How  tell  him  that  he  was 
out  too  welcome  to  wear  it  ? 

"  If  I  could  find  the  other,"  she  soliloquized  in  low  murmuring^ 

I  should  carry  it  in  some  conspicuous  place,  where  he  might  see  it 


158 

on  my  hand— my  breast— in  the  frontlet  of  my  coif,  as  ho  weari  Hi 
fellow  m  bis  beaver.  If  only  for  a  moment,  it  would  tell  him  what 
I  wish,  without  words.  Alas !  I've  lost  the  other.  Too  surely  hart 
I  lost  it.  Everywhere  have  I  searched  in  vain.  What  can  I  hav« 
done  with  it  ?    Bad  omen,  I  fear,  to  miss  it  at  such  a  time !  " 

"If  he  go  forth  as  he  has  come,"  continued  she,  resmning  her 
mental  soliloquy,  "  I  shall  not  have  the  opportimity  to  speak  to  him 
at  all — ^perhaps  not  even  to  ezchange  salutation.  He  will  scarce  ask 
to  see  me.  He  may  not  look  back.  I  cannot  call  after  him.  What 
is  to  be  done  ?  ** 

There  was  a  pause,  at  if  her  thoughti  were  silently  occupied  In 
forming  some  plan. 

"Ha! ''  she  exclaimed  at  length,  pretending  to  look  inquiringly 
out  of  the  window.  "  Lora  and  Walter  are  wandering  somewhere 
through  the  park  ?    I  shall  go  in  search  of  them  ? " 

The  motive  thus  disclosed  was  but  a  mere  pretense— put  forth  to 
satisfy  the  natural  instinct  of  a  maiden's  modesty.  It  ended  the 
struggle  between  this  and  the  powerful  passion  that  was  warring 
against  it. 

Marion  flung  the  coifed  hoodover  her  head;  drew  the  coverchiel 
forward  to  shade  the  sun  from  her  face — ^perchance  also  to  hide  the 
virgin  blush  which  her  thoughts  had  called  forth ;  and,  gliding  down- 
stairs, passed  out  on  her  pretended  errand. 

If  she  had  either  desire  or  design ;  to  And  those  she  went  forth  t« 
seek,  she  was  destined  to  disappointment.  Indeed,  her  search  was 
not  likely  to  have  been  successful ;  for  on  issuing  from  the  house,  she 
went  only  in  one  particular  direction — the  most  unlikely  one  for 
Walter  and  Lora  Lovelace  to  have  taken  at  that  hour;  since  it  was  a 
path  that  led  directly  to  the  western  entrance  of  the  park. 

Had  she  sought  the  old  Saxon  camp,  it  is  probable  she  would  have 
found  the  missing  pair ;  though  more  than  probable,  that  neither 
would  have  thanked  her  for  her  pains. 

As  it  was,  she  took  the  opposite  way;  and,  after  traversing  a  long 
stretch  of  avenue  with  slow,  lingering  steps,  she  found  herself  near 
that  old  hy-ground  gateway  that  opened  upon  the  Oxford  high-road. 

Apparently  terrified  at  having  strayed  so  far,  at  such  a  late  hour, 
for  the  sun  was  now  hidden  behind  the  trees,  she  faced  round;  and 
lommenced  retracing  her  steps  towards  the  mansion. 

Tme,  there  was  anexpressionuponher  face  resembling  fear;  but 
it  was  not  that  of  alarm  at  the  late  hour»  nor  the  distance  that  lay 


153 

between  her  and  the  dwelling,  T&itif  was  H  the  fear  one  feeia  ih 
doing  some  act  that  may  expose  to  censure  or  shame. 

Marion  Wade  was  upon  the  eve  of  committing  such  an  act.  She 
iiad  long  since  abandoned  the  idea  of  that  self-deception,  with  which 
upon  stwting  forth  she  had  tried  to  still  the  scruples  of  her  conscienco 
She  was  no  longer  looking  for  Lora  Lovelace  or  Walter  Wade;  bm 
for  one  who  was  now  dearer  to  her  than  either  cousin  or  brothct 
She  was  waiting  for  Henry  Holtspur — that  noble  cavalier,  whose 
graceful  image  had  taken  complete  possession  of  her  heart — ^waiting 
and  watching  for  him,  with  aU  the  eagerness  that  a  powerful  passion 
oan  inspire. 

It  was  still  only  twilight ;  and  any  onej  coming  down  the  avenue, 
might  have  noticed  a  white  object,  appearing  at  intervals  round  the 
stems  of  the  trees  that  skirted  the  path.  This  object  would  remain 
stationary  for  a  moment,  and  be  then  withdrawn,  to  appear  again  at 
another  point,  a  little  nearer  to  the  house.  A  good  eye  might  have 
told  it  to  be  the  head  of  a  woman,  wearing  a  white  hood,  the  graceful 
coif  or  coverchief  of  the  time. 

Henry  Holtspur  observed  it  as  he  rode  down  the  slope  of  thft  hill, 
after  having  taken  leave  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade.  He  simply  sup- 
posed it  to  be  some  peasant  girl  coming  up  the  path,  for  in  such  a 
light,  and  at  such  distance,  who  could  tell  the  difference  between  a 
cottager  and  a  queen  ? 

Had  he  known  who  it  was — ^had  he  suspected  the  bright  object 
moving  like  a  meteor  from  tree  to  tree  was  the  beautiful  Marion 
Wade,  it  would  have  sent  the  blood  tinglirg  from  the  stirrups  under 
Ids  feet  to  the  crown  of  his  head. 

No  such  suspicion  was  in  his  mind.  He  was  too  busy  chafing  at 
the  disappointment  of  having  left  the  house,  without  seeing  her,  te 
imagine  for  a  moment  such  a  splendid  fortune  was  still  in  store  for 
him. 

And  the  blood  did  tingle  from  the  stirrups  beneath  his  feet  to  the 
crown  of  his  head,  thrilled  through  every  vein  of  his  body,  as  arriving 
opposite  to  the  advancing  form,  he  perceived  it  to  be  no  peasant,  but 
the  peerless  Marion  Wa<^,  she  so  exclusively  occupying  his  thoughts, 

To  check  his  steed  to  a  stand,  as  if  threatened  by  some  suddea 
danger,  to  raise  the  beaver  from  his  head,  and  bo^v  to  the  peak  of  hii 
saddle,  were  acts  that  proceeded  rather  from  instinct  tlian  any  rea* 
soned  design. 


154 

Ai  6ke  same  Instant  escaped  from  his  lips,  partialij  hi  salute, 
partially  as  if  elicited  by  surprise^  the  words — 

"  Mistress  Marion  Wade  !  ** 

There  was  an  interval  of  embarrassment:  how  oould  H  be  other 
wise? 

Ti  was  brief.  Henry  Holtspur  was  over  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
Marion  Wade  had  escaped  from  her  teens.  The  passion  that  had 
sprung  up  between  them  was  not  the  fond  fancy  of  boyhood  or  girl- 
h9od.  On  his  side,  it  was  the  love  of  manhood ;  on  hers,  an  affection 
with  a  man  for  its  object,  a  man  mature,  with  a  pass  tc  be  proud  of,  one 
fai  whose  face  and  features  could  be  traced  the  souyenirs  of  gallant 
deeds,  whose  romantic  mien  betrayed  a  type  of  heroism  not  to  be 
mistaken. 

With  Marion  it  was  her  first  affection,  the  first  that  could  be  call- 
ed real:  With  Holtspur,  perhaps,  it  was  to  be  the  last  love  of  hia 
life,  ever  the  strongest;   since  the  heart  then  can  hope  for  no  other. 

It  was  not  the  place  of  the  maiden  to  speak  first;  and,  though 
scarce  knowing  what  to  say,  Holtspur  made  an  effort  to  break  the 
spell  of  that  hesitating  silence. 

"Pardon  me;  for  interrupting  your  walk ! "  said  he,  seeing  that 
she  had  stopped,  and  stood  facing  him.  "It  is  but  fair  to  confess 
that  I  have  been  wishing  for  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  you. 
The  unlucky  incident  of  yesterday,  of  which,  I  believe,  you  were  ft 
spectator,  hindered  me  from  meeting  you  again ;  and  I  was  just  re* 
fiecting  upon  having  experienced  a  similar  misfortune  to-day,  when 
you  appeared.  I  hope,  Mistross  Wade,  you  will  not  be  offended  ft! 
being  thus  waylaid  ?  '* 

"Oh!  certainly  not;**  answered  she,  slightly  surprised,  if  not 
pqued,  by  the  somewhat  business-like  candor  of  his  speech.  "Yon 
have  been  on  a  visit  to  my  father,  I  believe  ?  *' 

"  I  have ;  **  replied  the  cavalier,  equally  chiUed  by  the  indifferent 
character  of  the  question. 

"  I  hope,  sir,**  said  Marion  throwing  a  little  more  warmth  into  hm 
manner,  "  you  received  no  hurt  from  your  encounter  of  yesterday  ?  ** 

"  Thanks,  Mistress  Marion !  not  the  slightest;  except,  indeed        ** 

"Except  what,  sir?*'  inquired  the  lady,  with  a  look  of  alarm. 

"  Only  that  I  looked  for  fair  eyes  to  smile  upon  my  poor  vic- 
tory.** 

*'  If  mine  deceived  me  not,  you  were  not  dissappointed.  There 
vas  one  who  not  only  smiled  upon  it,  but  seemed  desirous  to  crown  \i 


155 

with  flowers !    It  was  but  natural :  since  it  was  in  her  defense  jon 
drew  your  sword." 

"  Ah!  "  responded  the  cavalier,  appearing  for  the  first  time  to  re- 
member the  incident  of  the  flower  presentation.  **  You  speak  of  the 
peasant  girl  who  represented  Maid  Marian  !  I  believe  she  did  force 
some  flowers  into  my  hand;  though  she  owed  me  less  gratitude  than 
she  thinks  for.  It  was  not  to  champion  her  that  I  took  up  the 
quarrel ;  but  rather  to  punish  a  swaggerer.  In  truth,  I  had  quite 
forgotten  the  episode  of  the  flowers." 

"  Indeed ! "  exclaimed  Marion,  a  flush  of  joy  suff'asing  her  face, 
which  she  seemed  endeavoring  to  conceal.  "  Is  it  thus  you  reward 
gratitude  ?    Methinks,  sir,  you  should  value  it  at  a  higher  price  I  " 

"It  depends,'*  said  the  cavaUer,  rather  puzzled  for  a  reply,**  on 
whether  gratitude  has  been  deserved.  For  my  part,  I  consider  my- 
self as  altogether  without  any  claim  of  gratitude  of  the  girl.  The 
conduct  of  the  cuirassier  captain  was  a  slight  to  all  on  the  ground. 
But  now,  since  I  have  come  to  confession,  I  should  say  that  it  was  in 
the  interest  of  others  I  ^ooA:  up  the  gauntlet  against  him." 

Marion  glanced  at  the  little  glove  set  coquettishly  in  the  crown  of 
the  cavalier's  hat.  She  fancied  that  he  laid  a  significant  emphasis  on 
the  figurative  phrase,  "took  up  the  gauntlet."  Her  glance,  however, 
was  quick  and  furtive — as  if  fearful  of  betraying  the  sweet  thoughts 
his  words  had  suggested. 

There  was  a  pause  in  the  conversation — another  interval  of  hesita- 
ting silence,  then  neither  knew  what  to  say— each  fearing  to  risk  the 
compromise  of  a  trivial  remark. 

Marion  had  recalled  the  introductory  speech  of  the  cavalier.  She 
had  it  upon  her  tongue  to  demand  from  him  its  meaning;  when  the 
latter  relieved  her  by  resuming  his  discourse. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  there  are  occasions  when  one  does  not  deserve 
gratitude  even  for  what  may  appear  an  honest  act ;  as,  for  instance, 
one  who  has  found  something  that  has  been  lost,  and  returns  to  the 
owner,  only  after  long  delay,  and  with  great  reluctance." 

As  Holtspur  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the  glove  in  his  hat.     Marion's 
(hce  betrayed  a  strange  mixture    of  emotion — half  distressed,  hall 
triumphant. 
'    She  was  too  much  embarrassed  to  m&ke  answer 

The  cavalier  continued  his  figurative  discourse. 

"  The  finder,  having  no  right  to  the  thing  found,  it  should  be  givea 
Mp.    That  is  but  simple  honesty;  and  scarce  deservmg  of  thanki 


166 

For  exam^t,  I  have  picked  up  this  pretty  gauntlet ;  and  howevei 
much  I  might  wish  to  keep  it — as  a  souvenir  of  one  of  the  happiest 
moments  of  my  existence — I  feel  constrained,  by  all  the  rules  of 
honor  and  honesty,  to  restore  it  to  its  rightful  owner—unless  ^hai 
owner,  knowing  how  much  I  prize  it,  will  consent  to  my  keeping 
It." 

HoUspur  bent  low  in  his  saddle,  and  listened  attentively  for  tha 
rejoinder. 

"  Keep  it ! "  said  Marion,  abandoning  all  affectation  of  ignorance 
as  to  his  meaning ;  and  accompanying  the  assent  with  a  gracious 
Bmile.     "  Keep  it,  sir,  if  it  so  please  you." 

Then,  as  if  fearing  that  she  had  surrendered  too  freely,  she  added,  in 
a  tone  of  navetey — "  It  would  be  no  longer  of  any  use  to  me — since 
I  have  lost  the  other — its  fellow." 

This  last  announcement  counteracted  the  pleasant  impression 
wiich  her  consent  had  produced,  and  once  more  precipitated  Henry 
Holtspur  into  the  sea  of  uncertainty. 

"  No  longer  of  any  use  to  her,"  thought  he,  repeatmg  her  words. 
"If  that  be  her  only  motive  for  bestowing  it,  then  will  it  be  no 
longer  of  any  value  to  me." 

He  felt  something  Uke  chagrin.  He  was  almost  on  the  point  of 
returning  the  doubtful  token. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  he,  hesitatingly,  "  I  have  offended  by  keeping  it 
80  long  without  your  consent,  and  more  by  displaying  it  as  I  have 
done.  For  the  former,  I  might  claim  excuse,  on  the  plea  that  I  had 
no  opportunity  of  restoring  it.  But,  for  the  latter,  I  fear  I  can  offer 
no  justification.  I  can  only  plead  the  promptings  of  a  vain  hope — 
of  a  passion  that  I  now  believe  to  be  hopeless,  as  it  will  be  deemed 
presumptive." 

The  tone  of  despondency  in  which  this  speech  was  delivered, 
struck  sweetly  on  the  ear  of  Marion  Wade.  It  had  the  true  ring  of 
love's  utterance,  and  she  intuitively  recognized  it.  She  could  scarci 
conceal  her  joy,  as  she  made  rejoinder — 

"  Why  should  I  be  offended,  either  at  your  detaining  the  glove,  or 
wearing  it?"  As  she  said  this,  she  regarded  the  cavalier  with  a 
forgiving  smile.  "  The  first  was  unavoidable ;  the  other  I  ought  to 
esteem  an  honor.  Setting  store  by  a  lady's  favor  is  not  the  way,  sir, 
lo  off«nd  her." 

"  Favor !    Then  she  has  meant  it  as  such ! " 

Along  with  the  unspoken  thought,  a  gleam  of  returning  oonfldenof 
(lioi  over  the  cavalier's  countenance. 


liT 

•■1  CMfk  no  longer  endure  the  doubt,"  muttered  be,  •*  I  shall  ^peak 
to  her  more  plainly.     Mariaixi  Wade !  " 

Her  name  was  uttered  aloud ;  and  in  a  tone  of  appeal  that  n  lused 
her  to  glance  up  with  some  surprise.  In  her  look  there  was  no  trace 
of  displeasure  at  the  familiar  mode  of  address. 

"  Speak,  sir,"  she  said,  encouragingly.  "  You  have  something  to 
■ay?" 

"  A  question  to  ask — only  one;  and  oh!  Marion  Wade, answer  i* 
irith  candor  !    You  promise  ?  " 

"  I  promise." 

**  You  say  you  have  lost  the  other  glove  ?  ** 

Marion  nodded  an  aflSrmative. 

"  Tell  me  then,  and  truly;  did  you  lose  this  one  ?*' 

The  cavalier,  as  he  spoke,  pointed  to  the  white  gauntlet. 

**  Your  meaning,  sir  ?  " 

**  Ah !  Marion  Wade,  you  are  evading  the  answer.  Tell  me,  if  H 
fell  from  your  fair  hand  unknown — unnoticed;  or  was  it  dropped  b/ 
design  1    Tell  me  — oh,  tell  me  truly." 

He  could  not  read  the  answer  in  her  eyes,  for  the  long  lashes  had 
fallen  over  them,  hiding  the  blue  orbs  beneath.  The  red  blood 
manthng  upon  her  cheeks,  and  mounting  up  to  her  forehead,  should 
have  aided  him  to  it,  had  he  been  closely  observing.  Her  silence, 
too,  might  have  served  to  enlighten  him  as  to  the  reply  she  would 
have  made,  had  her  modesty  permitted  speech. 

"I  have  been  candid  with  you,"  he  continued,  urging  his  appeal 
by  argument ;  "  I  have  thrown  myself  upon  your  mercy.  If  yon 
care  not  for  the  happiness  of  one  who  would  risk  his  life  for  yours, 
then  do  I  adjure  you,  as  you  care  for  truth,  to  speak  the  truth  ? 
Dropped  you  this  glove  by  accident  or  design  ? " 

With  the  silence  of  one  who  awaits  to  hear  the  pronouncing  of 
his  sentence,  Henry  Holtspur  sat  listening  for  her  answer. 

It  came  like  an  echo  to  his  speech ;  but  an  echo  that  only  repeat- 
ed the  final  word. 

"  Design ! "  murmured  Marion  Wade,  in  a  low  soft  voice,  whoso 
?ery  trembling  betokened  its  truth. 

The  abyss  of  ceremony  no  longer  lay  between  them.  That  one 
word  had  bridged  it. 

Henry  Hc^tspur  sprang  firom  his  saddle,  and  gUded  in  among  tho 
treea* 


168  A  JEALOUS   EAVESDBOPPEB. 

In  another  instant  their  arms  were  entwined,  their  lips  in  mntaail 
contact ,  and  their  hearts  pressed  close  together^  beating  response!, 
•weet  as  the  pulsations  of  celestial  life. 

•  •••••• 

"Adieu!  sweet  Marion,  adieu!  *'  cried  the  lover, as  she  glided 
from  his  arms,  reluctant  to  let  her  leave. 

''She  will  be  the  last  love  of  my  life,"  he  muttered, as  he  leaped 
bio  his  saddle  almost  without  touching  stirrup. 

The  trained  steed  stood  at  rest  till  his  rider  was  fairlj  fixed  in  tbi 
ieat.  He  had  remained  silent  and  motionless  throughout  that  sweet 
interview  of  the  lovers — its  sole  witness.  Proudly  champing  his  bit, 
he  seemed  exulting  in  the  fair  conquest  his  master  had  made — as  hi 
had  shown  himself  after  the  triumph  of  yesterday.  Perhaps  Hubert 
had  some  share  in  achieving  the  victory  of  love,  as  of  war  ? 

The  steed  stirred  not  till  he  felt  the  spur ;  and  even  then,  as  if  par- 
ticipating in  the  reluctance  of  his  rider,  he  moved  but  slowly  from 
the  spot 


CHAPTER  XXVra. 


▲  JSAL0U8  BAYESDBOPPBA. 


If  no  eye  beheld  the  meeting  between  Marion  Wade  and  Henry 

Holtspur,  there  was  one  that  witnessed  their  parting  with  a  glance 
that  betokened  pain.    It  was  the  eye  of  Richard  Scarthe. 

On  leaving  the  dinner  table,  some  details  of  military  duty  had 
occupied  the  cuirassier  captain  for  an  hour  or  two,  after  which,  hav- 
big  no  further  occupation  for  the  evening,  he  resolved  to  seek  an  in- 
terview with  the  ladies  of  the  house,  more  especially  with  her  who, 
In  the  short  space  of  a  single  day,  had  kindled  vrithin  him  a  passion 
that,  honorable  or  not,  was  at  least  ardent. 

He  was  already  as  much  in  love  with  the  lady  as  it  was  possibk 
Ibr  such  ft  Qftture  to  be.    A  month  in  her  company  could  not  bftT/ 


A  JEiXOUS   BA\1E80B0PPEB.  lH 

snore  oompletely  enamored  him.  Her  cold  reception  of  his  compli* 
mentarj  phrases — as  yet  only  offered  to  her  with  the  insinuating 
delicacy  of  an  experienced  seducer — ^instead  of  chilling  his  incipient 
desires,  had  only  served  to  add  fuel  to  the  flame.  He  was  too  well 
exercised  in  conquering  the  scruples  of  maiden  modesty  to  feel  despair 
at  such  primary  repulses. 

*' I  shall  win  her  in  spite  of  this  monosyllabic  indifference,''  rnulp 
tered  he  to  Stubbs,  as  they  returned  to  their  sitting-room.  "  Pshaw  • 
'tis  only  pretense  before  strangers.  By  my  troth,  I  like  this  sort  of 
a  beginning.  I'm  fashed  of  facile  conquests.  This  promises  to  be  • 
little  difficult,  and  will  enable  me  to  kill  the  ennui,  which  otherwise 
might  haye  killed  me  in  these  rural  quarters.  I  shall  win  her  as  I 
have  won  others — as  I  should  Lucretia  herself,  had  she  IKed  in  ouf 
time." 

To  this  triumphant  boast  his  satellite  spoke  assent  in  his  oharao- 
teristic  fashion. 

"  Safe  to  do  it,  by  Ged,"  said  he,  as  if  convinced  of  the  invincibili- 
ty of  one,  who  more  than  once  had  spoiled  his  own  chances  in  the 
game  of  love-making. 

Scarthe  was  determined  to  let  but  little  time  elapse  before  entering 
upon  his  amour.  His  passion  prompted  him  to  immediate  action; 
and  the  first  step  was  to  seek  an  interview  with  the  woman  he  had 
resolved  upon  winning. 

It  was  one  thing,  however,  to  desire  an  interview  with  the  daughter 
of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  another  to  obtain  it.  The  cuirassier 
captain  was  not  in  the  position  to  demand,  or  even  seek  it  by  request. 
Any  attempt  on  his  part  to  force  such  an  event  might  end  in  his  dis- 
^mfiture ;  for  although  he  could  compel  Sir  Marmaduke  to  find  bed, 
board,  and  forage  for  himself  and  his  troopers,  the  tyranny  of  the 
king  did  not,  or  rather  dared  not,  extend  so  far  as  to  violate  the 
sanctity  of  a  gentleman's  family.  That  of  his  household  had  beei 
sufficiently  outraged  by  the  act  of  benevolence  itself. 

These  circumstances  considered,  it  was  clear  to  Scarthe  that  ths 
desired  interview  must  be  brought  about  by  stratagem,  and  appev 
the  result  of  simple  accident. 

In  pursuance  of  this  idea,  about  half  an  hour  before  sunset,  he 
sidlied  forth  from  his  room,  and  commenced  strolling  through  the 
grounds,  here  stopping  to  examine  a  flower,  there  standing  to  scruti* 
iiize  a  statue,  as  if  the  science  of  botany  and  the  art  of  sculpture 
were  the  only  subjects  h  which,  ^t  the  particular  moment,  be  Ml 


160 

One  near  enough  to  note  the  expression  upon  his  featnrct  might 
easily  have  told  that  neither  a  love  of  art  nor  an  admiration  of 
nature  was  there  indicated.  On  the  contrary,  while  apparently  oc- 
cupied with  the  flower  or  the  statue,  his  eyes  were  turned  towards 
the  house,  wandering  in  furtive  glance  from  window  to  window. 

In  order  not  to  compromise  his  character  for  good  breeding,  h« 
kept  at  some  distance  from  the  walls  along  the  outer  edge  of  tht 
shrubbery.  In  this  way  he  proceeded  past  the  front  of  the  man- 
sion, imtil  he  had  reached  that  side  facing  to  the  west. 

Here  his  stealthy  reconnaissance  was  carried  on  with  increased 
earnestness;  for  although  not  certain  what  part  of  the  house  was 
occupied  by  the  female  members  of  the  family,  he  had  surmised  that 
it  was  the  western  wing.  The  pleasant  exposure  on  tliis  side — with 
the  more  carefiil  cultivation  of  the  flower-beds  and  turf-sward,  plainly 
proclaimed  it  to  be  the  sacred  precinct. 

One  by  one  he  examined  the  windows— endeavoring  to  pierce  the 
interior  of  the  apartments  into  which  they  opened;  but,  after  spend* 
ing  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  in  this  fantastic  scrutiny,  he  discovered 
nothing  to  repay  him  for  his  pains — ^not  the  face  of  a  living  creature. 

Once  only^  he  caught  sight  of  a  figure  inside  one  of  the  rooms  on 
the  ground  floor ;  but  the  dress  was  dark ;  and  the  glimpse  he  had 
of  it,  told  it  to  be  that  of  a  man.  Sir  Mannaduke  it  was,  moving 
about  in  his  library. 

*'  The  women  don't  appear  to  be  inside  at  all,''  muttered  he,  witk 
an  an*  of  discontent.  "  By  Phoebus !  what  if  ihey  should  have  gone 
for  a  stroll  through  the  park?  Fine  evening — charming  simset. 
I'  faith,  I  shouldn't  wonder  but  that  they're  out  enjoying  it.  If  I 
could  only  find  her  outside,  that  would  be  just  the  thing.  I'U  try  a 
stroll  myself.    Perhaps  I  may  meet  her.    'Tis  possible." 

So  saying,  he  turned  away  from  the  statue— which  he  had  been  se 
long  criticising — and  faced  to  the  foot-bridge  that  spanned  the  fosse. 

As  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  wicket  gate — ^with  the  intention  of 
opening  it — ^an  object  came  under  his  eyes — that  caused  the  blood  to 
leap  into  his  cheeks,  and  mantle  upwards  upon  his  pale  forehead. 

The  elevated  causeway  of  the  bridge  had  placed  him  in  a  position, 
from  which  he  could  view  the  long  avenue  leading  down  to  the  road. 
Far  down  it,  near  the  gateway,  a  steed,  saddled  and  bridled — as  i 
ready  for  a  rider  to  mount,  was  standing  on  the  path. 

There  was  no  one  boldinf  thf  aiu°^»  &o  ooe  lookipf  |f(er  iiv^^  n^ 


it  w%»  not  the  circumstance  of  seeing  a  horse  thus  caparisoned, 
and  uncared  for,  though  this  was  odd  enoi.gh,  that  flushed  the  cheek 
of  the  cuirassier  captain,  and  caused  his  lingers  to  tremble  on  th« 
uplifted  latch.  It  was  the  sight  of  that  particular  horse  which  pro- 
duced such  effect :  for  the  curving  neck  and  sable  coat  of  the  animal, 
visible  even  through  the  gray  gloaming  of  the  twilight,  enabled 
Scarthe  to  recognize  the  steed,  that  had  played  so  conspicuous  a 
part  in  his  own  humiliation. 

"  Holtspur's  horse,  by  heaven  ?  "  were  the  words  that  fell  mechan- 
ically from  his  lips.  "  The  man  must  be  there  himself,  behind  the 
trees.    There,  and  what  doing  there  ?  ** 

"  I  shall  go  down,  and  see,"  he  muttered,  after  a  moment  of  inde 
cision. 

Opening  the  wicket  gate,  he  passed  through ;  quickly  traversed  the 
remaining  portion  of  the  causeway ;  and  continued  on  towards  the 
epot  where  the  steed  was  standing. 

He  did  not  go  in  a  direct  path  towards  the  object  that  had  thus 
interested  him,  which  would  have  been  the  avenue  itself,  but  proceed- 
ed in  a  circuitous  direction,  through  some  copse- wood  that  skirted  the 
slope  of  the  hill. 

He  had  reason  for  thus  deviating. 

"  Holtspur  in  the  park  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade !  **  muttered  he, 
as  he  crept  through  the  thicket  with  the  cautious  tread  of  a  deer- 
stalker.    "  Where  is  Sir  Marmaduke*s  daughter  ? " 

As  the  suspicion  swept  across  his  brain,  it  brought  the  blood 
scorching  like  fire  through  his  veins.  His  limbs  felt  weak  under  him. 
He  almost  tottered,  as  he  trod  the  sward. 

His  jealous  agony  was  scarce  more  acute,  when,  on  reaching  the 
row  of  chestnuts  that  bordered  the  avenue,  and  craning  his  neck 
outward  to  get  a  view,  he  saw  a  man  come  out  from  among  the  trees, 
and  step  up  to  the  side  of  the  steed ;  while  at  the  same  instant  a 
white  object,  like  a  lady's  coverchief  or  scarf  fluttered  amid  die 
foliage  that  overhung  the  path. 

The  man  he  recognized :  Henry  Holtspur !  The  woman,  though 
seen  less  distinctly,  could  be  only  the  one  occupying  his  thoughts — 
<jnly  Marion  Wade  ! 

Though  not  a  coward — and  accustomed  to  encounters  abrupt  and 
dangerous — Scarthe  was  at  that  crisis  the  victim  of  fear  and  inde- 
cision. In  his  chagrin  he  could  have  rushed  down  the  slope,  and 
5iabbe4  Holtspvif  \q  tfef  fe^t,  without  xn^vcj  ^f  j^worse.    i^it  In 


102  A  JEALOUS    EAVESDROPPKB. 

had  110  intention  of  acting  in  this  off-hand  way.  Tho  encounter  <A 
the  day  before — of  which  the  torture  of  his  wounded  arm  emphati* 
cally  reminded  him — had!  robbed  him  of  all  zest  for  a  renewal  of  tha 
black  horseman's  acquaintance. 

He  only  hesitated  as  to  whether  he  should  screen  himself  behind 
the  trees,  and  permit  the  lady  to  pass  on  to  the  house;  or  remain  in 
ambush  till  she  came  up,  and  then  jom  company  with  her. 

He  was  no  longer  uncertain  as  to  who  it  was.  The  white-rob«4 
figure,  that  now  stood  out  in  the  open  avenue,  was  Marion  Wade, 
No  other  could  have  shown  that  imposing  outline  ujuier  the  doubtful 
shadow  of  the  twiUghi. 

It  was  not  till  the  horseman  had  sprung  into  the  saddle,  turned 
his  back  upon  the  mansion,  and  was  riding  away,  that  Scarthe  recov- 
ered from  his  irresolution^ 

He  felt  sensible  of  being  in  a  state  of  mind  to  make  himself  ridic- 
ulous ;  and  that  the  more  prudent  plan  would  be  to  remain  out  of 
sight.  But  the  bitter  sting  was  rankling  in  his  breast — all  the  more 
bitter  that  he  suspected  an  intrigue.  This  fell  fancy,  torturing  him 
to  the  heart's  core,  stifled  all  thoughts  of  either  policy  or  prudence , 
and  impelled  him  to  present  himself. 

With  an  eflfort  such  as  his  cunning,  and  the  control  which  expe- 
rience had  given  him  over  his  passions,  enabled  him  to  make — he 
succeeded  in  calming  himself  sufficiently  for  a  pretense  at  courteous 
conversation. 

At  this  moment,  Marion  came  up. 

She  started  on  seeing  Scarthe  glide  out  from  among  the  trees. 
The  wild  passion  gleaming  in  his  eyes  was  enough  to  cause  her  alarm 
though  she  made  but  slight  exhibition  of  it.  She  was  too  highly 
bred  to  show  emotion,  even  under  such  suspicious  circumstances. 
Her  heart  at  that  moment  thrilling  with  supreme  happiness,  was  too 
strong  to  feel  fear. 

"  Good  even,  sir,"  she  simply  said,  in  return  to  the  salute  which 
Scarthe  had  made  as  he  approached. 

"  Pardon  my  question,  Mistress  Wade,"  said  he,  joining  her,  and 
walking  by  her  side.  "  Are  you  not  afraid  to  be  out  alone  at  thia 
late  hour — especially  as  the  neighborhood  is  infested  with  such 
ferocious  footpads  as  your  brother  has  been  telling  me  of  ?  Ua ! 
ha!  ha!» 

"  Oh !  "  said  Marion — answering  \he  interrogatory  in  the  8am<v 
spirit  m  which  it  appe^rf 4  ^P  h%Yf  beep  put—"  That  w^s  before 


▲  JKAL0U8    EAVESDHOPPES.  168 

Cftpiain  Sc&rthe  and  his  redoubtable  cuirassiers  came  to  reside  with  ui 
Under  their  protection,  I  presume,  there  will  no  longer  be  anything 
to  fear  from  footpads,  or  even  highwaymen !  *' 

"Thanks  for  your  compliment,  lady!  If  I  could  only  flatter 
myself  that  our  presence  here  would  be  considered  a  protection  by 
Mistress  Marion  Wade,  it  would  be  some  compensation  for  th« 
unpleasantness  of  being  forced  as  a  guest  upon  her  father.** 

"You  are  gracious,  sir,"  said  she,  bowing  slightly  in  return  to  the 
implied  apology. 

Then  casting  a  quick  but  scrutinizing  glance  ftt  the  counte- 
nance of  the  speaker,  she  continued  in  thought — "if  this  man  be 
honest,  the  devil's  a  witch.  K  he  be,  I  never  saw  look  that  so  belies 
the  heart.** 

"  Believe  me.  Mistress  Wade,**  proceeded  the  hypocrite,**  I  keenly 
(bel  my  position  here.  I  know  that  I  cannot  be  regarded  in  any  other 
light  than  that  of  an  intruder.  Notwithstanding  the  pleasure  it  may 
be,  to  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  your  noble  house,  I  would  gladly 
forego  that  happiness,  were  it  in  consonance  with  my  duty  to  the  king 
—which  of  course  is  paramount  to  everything  else.** 

« Indeed!** 

"To  an  officer  of  his  majesty's  cuirassiers  it  should  be.** 

'*  In  France,  perhaps,  or  in  Flanders,  where  I  understand  you've 
been  campaigning.  In  England,  sir,  and  in  the  eyes  of  an  English 
woman,  there  are  higher  duties  than  those  owing  to  the  king.  Did 
It  ever  occur  to  you  that  you  owe  a  duty  to  the  pe(q}U  ?  or  if  you  pre- 
fbr  the  expressioa,  to  the  State" 

**  LHUA  e$t  roi.  L*etat  e$t  maif  That  it  the  eroed  of  Richard 
Searthe  !** 

"  Even  If  your  kmg  be  a  tyrant  f  ** 

"  I  am  but  a  soldier.  It  is  not  mine  to  question  the  prerogatives 
•f  royalty,  only  to  obey  its  edicts.** 

"  A  noble  creed !  Noble  sentiments  for  a  soldier !  Hear  mine,  sir !  ** 

"  With  pleasurOjMistress  Wade  !  **  replied  Searthe,  cowering  under 
her'scornfhl  glance. 

"  Were  I  a  man,**  she  continued,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  enthu- 
siasm, "  rather  would  I  shave  my  crown,  and  cover  it  with  the  cow] 
of  a  friar,  than  wear  a  sword  to  be  drawn  in  no  better  cause  than  that 
of  an  imscrupulous  king !  Ha  I  There  are  men  rising  in  this  land, 
whose  fame  shall  outlive  the  petty  notoriety  of  its  princes.  When 
these  have  become  obscured  behind  the  oblivion  of  ages,  the  names  of 


Tane  and  Pym^  and  Cromwell  and  Hampden,  and  Holt      -,**  ihe  bu 
half  pronounced  the  one  she  held  highest — *<  shall  be  household 
words !  *' 

**  These  are  wild  words.  Mistress  Wade ! ''  r^jofaied  Scarthe,  his 
loyalty — along  with  a  slight  inclination  of  anger — struggling  against 
the  admiration  which  he  could  not  help  feeling  for  the  beautiful  enthu- 
fiast;  "  I  fear  you  are  a  rebel ;  and  were  I  as  true  to  the  interests  of 
my  king  as  I  should  be,  it  would  be  my  duty  to  make  you  a  captive  .*' 
«  Ah !  "  he  continued,  bending  towaids  the  proud  maiden,  and  speaking 
in  a  tone  of  ambiguous  appeal,  "  to  make  you  a  captive,  my  captive, 
that  would  indeed  be  a  pleasant  duty  for  a  soldier,  ihe  recompense  of 
m  whole  life." 

"  Ho  !  "  exclaimed  Marion,  pretending  not  to  understand  the  inu- 
tndo,  '*  since  you  talk  of  making  me  a  captive,  I  must  endeavor  to  es- 
cape from  you.    Good  evening,  sir.** 

Flinging  a  triumphant  smile  towards  the  disappointed  wooer,  she 
glided  rapidly  beyond  his  reach ;  and,  nimbly  tripping  over  the  foot* 
bridge,  disappeared  from  his  sight  amid  the  shrubbery  surrounding  the 
mansion. 


OHAPTERXXIX. 


AM  WMOOViMD  OOVBin. 


On  parting  from  Marion  Wade,  Henry  Holtspnr  should  have  been 
Ihe  happiest  of  men.  The  loveliest  woman  in  the  shire,  to  his  eyes  in 
the  tvorldy  had  declared  to  him  her  love,  and  vowed  eternal  devotion. 
Its  full  fruition  cotdd  not  have  given  him  firmer  assurance  of  the 
feet. 

And  yet  he  was  not  happy.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  with  a  heavy 
Inart  that  he  rode  away  from  the  scene  of  that  interview  with  hii 
splendid  sweetheart.  He  knew  that  the  interview  should  not  hav$  oc* 
mtnd^  thai  Marion  Wads  might  not  to  be  kts  wioesthearif 


168 

After  nding  half  a  dozen  lengths  of  his  hors«,  he  turned  m  his  sad. 
file,  to  look  back,  in  hopes  that  the  sight  of  the  loved  form  miglW 
tranqui]iz9  his  conscience. 

Happier  for  him  had  he  ridden  on. 

K  unhappy  before,  he  now  saw  that  which  made  him  miserabla 
Marion  had  commenced  ascending  the  slope.  Her  light-colored  gar 
ments  rendered  her  eiisily  recognizable  through  the  dimness  of  the 
twilight.  Holtspur  watched  her  movements,  admiring  the  queenly 
grace  of  her  step,  distinguishable  despite  the  darkness  and  distance 

He  was  fast  recovering  composure  of  mind,  so  late  disturbed  by 
some  unpleasant  thought,  and  no  doubt  would  have  left  the  spot  with 
contentment ;  but  for  an  incident,  which  at  that  moment  transpired 
under  his  view. 

Marion  Wade  had  got  half-way  up  the  hill,  and  was  advancing  with 
rapid  step.  Just  then  some  one,  going  at  a  quicker  pace,  appeared 
in  the  avenue  behind  her. 

This  second  pedestrian  must  have  passed  out  from  among  the  trees  ' 
since  but  the  moment  before  the  receding  form  of  the  lady  was  alone 
m  the  avenue. 

In  a  few  seconds  she  was  overtaken ;  and  the  two  figures  were  now 
seen  side  by  side.  In  this  way  they  moved  on — ^their  heads  sUghtly 
inclined  towards  each  other,  as  if  engaged  in  familiar  conversation ! 

The  dress  of  the  individual  who  had  thus  sprung  suddenly  into 
sight  was  also  of  a  light  color,  and  might  have  been  a  woman's.  But 
a  red  scarf  diagonally  crossing  the  shoulders — ^a  high-peaked  hat  with 
plume  of  ostrich  feathers — and,  more  than  all,  the  tallness  of  the  fig- 
ure, told  Henry  Holtspur  that  it  was  a  man  who  was  walking  with 
Marion  Wade. 

The  same  tokens  declared  he  was  not  her  brother ;  Walter  was 
not  near  so  tall.    It  could  not  be  her  father ;  Sir  Marmaduke  was  ac 
customed  to  dress  in  black. 

The  rows  of  chestnuts  that  bordered  the  walk  came  to  a  termination 
near  the  top  of  the  hill.  The  figures  had  arrived  there.  Next  mo- 
ment they  moved  out  from  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  could  be  seei 
more  distinctly. 

"  'Tis  neither  her  father,  nor  brotner — 'tis  Scarthe.'* 

It  was  Holtspur  who  pronounced  these  words,  and  with  an  intona- 
tion that  betokened  both  surprise  and  chagrin. 

••  He  has  forced  himself  upon  her  I  He  came  skulking  out  from 
ike  trees,  as  if  he  had  been  lying  in  wait  for  her !    I  shoi^Ldn't  won 


der  if  *twas  so.  What  can  I  do  ?  Shall  I  follow  and  interrO|it  th* 
interview?" 

"  There  is  danger  here,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause.  "Ah  !  vil- 
tfiin  !  "  he  exclaimed  standing  erect  in  his  stirrups,  and  stretching  out 
his  clenched  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  departing  figures ;  "  if  you 
but  dare— one  word  of  insult — one  ribald  look,  and  I  am  told  of  it— 
the  chastisement  you've  already  had  will  be  nothing  to  that  in  stort 
for  you." 

**  0  God  !  *'  he  exclaimed,  as  though  some  still  more  disagreeahle 
thought  had  succeeded  to  this  paroxysm  of  spite ;  "  a  dread  spectacle 
H  is  !     The  wolf  walking  by  the  side  of  the  lamb  ! 

"  He  is  bowing  and  bending  to  her  !  See !  She  turns  towards  him  ? 
She  appears  complacent !     0  God  !  is  it  possible  ? " 

Involuntarily  his  hand  glided  to  the  hilt  of  his  sword — while  the 
gpurs  were  pressed  against  the  ribs  of  his  horse. 

The  spirited  animal  sprang  forward  along  the  path — his  head  turned 
towards  the  mansion ;  but,  before  he  had  made  a  second  spring,  he  was 
checked  up  again. 

**  I'm  a  fool !  "  muttered  his  rider ;  *'  and  you,  too,  Huhert.  At 
all  events  I  should  have  been  thought  so,  had  I  ridden  up  yonder. 
What  could  I  have  said  to  excuse  myself  !  'Tis  not  possible.  If  it 
were  so,  I  should  feel  no  remorse.  If  it  were  so,  there  could  be  no 
ruin!" 

"  Ha !  they  have  reached  the  bridge.  She  is  leaving  him.  She  has 
hurried  inside  the  house.  He  remains  without,  apparently  for- 
saken ! " 

"  Oh  Marion,  if  I've  wronged  thee,  'tis  because  I  love  thee  madly— 
madly !    Pardon !  pardon !     I  will  watch  thee  no  more ! " 

So  saying,  he  wheeled  his  steed ;  and,  without  looking  back,  gal* 
loped  on  towards  the  gateway. 

Even  while  opening  the  gate  and  closing  it  behind  him,  he  turned 
not  his  eye  towards  the  avenue ;  but,  spurring  into  the  pubUc  roadr 
continued  the  gallop  which  the  gate  had  interrupted. 

The  head  of  his  horse  was  homeward — so  far  only  as  the  embouch- 
ure of  the  forest  path  that  opened  towards  Stone  Dean.  On  reach- 
ing this  point  he  halted ;  and,  instead  of  entering  upon  the  by-way, 
remained  out  into  the  middle  of  the  high  road— as  if  undecided  as  to 
Ids  course. 

He  glanced  towards  the  sky— a  small  patch  of  which  wai  Tiaibli 
Mween  the  trees,  on  both  sides  overarching  the  road. 


i«r 

The  purple  twilight  was  stilllingering  amid  the  spraj  of  the  forest  j 
ftnd  through  the  break  opening  eastward,  he  could  perceive  the  homed 
moon  cutting  sharply  against  the  horizon. 

"  Scarce  worth  while  to  go  home  now,"  he  muttered,  drawing  forth 
his  watch,  and  holding  the  dial  up  to  his  eyes.  "  How  swifl!y  th« 
last  hour  has  sped — ah  !  how  sweetly !  In  another  the  men  will  he 
there.  By  riding  slowly  I  shall  just  be  in  time ;  and  you,  Hubert,  can 
have  your  supper  in  a  stall  at  the  Saracen's  Head.  Aha !  a  womai? 
m  the  window  ?    By  heavens,  'tis  Marion  !  " 

The  exclamatory  phrases  were  caJed  forth,  as  turning  towards  th« 
park,  he  caught  sight  of  the  mansion,  visible  through  an  opening  be- 
tween the  chestnuts. 

Several  windows  were  alight ;  but  the  eye  of  the  cavaher  dwelt  only 
on  one ;  where,  under  the  arcade  of  the  curtains,  and  against  the  lumi- 
nous background  of  a  burning  lamp,  a  female  form  was  discernable 
Only  the  figure  could  be  traced  at  that  far  distance ;  but  this — tall, 
graceful,  and  majestic — proclaimed  it  to  be  the  silhoutte  of  Marion 
Wade. 

After  a  prolonged  gaze,  commencing  with  a  smile,  and  terminating 
in  a  sigh,  Holtspur  once  more  gave  Hubert  the  rein,  and  moved  silent- 
ly onward. 

The  rumed  hut  on  Jarret's  Heath  was  soon  reached,  conspicuous 
under  the  silvery  moonlight,  as  he  had  last  viewed  it ;  but  no  longer  the 
rendezvous  of  Gregory  Garth  and  his  fierce  footpads.  The  dummies 
had  disappeared,  even  to  the  sticks  that  had  served  to  support  them  and 
naught  remained  to  indicate,  that  in  that  solitary  place  the  traveler 
had  ever  hstened  to  the  unpleasant  summons  :  "  Stand  and  deliver  !  '* 
Holtspur  could  not  pass  the  spot  vdthout  smiling ;  and  more  :  for 
as  the  ludicrous  incident  came  more  clearly  before  his  mind,  he  drew 
up  his  horse,  and  leaning  back  in  the  saddle,  gave  utterance  to  a  .oud 
laugh 

Hubert,  on  hearing  his  master  in  such  a  merry  mood,  uttered  a  re- 
sponsive neigh.  Perhaps  Hubert  was  laughing  too;  but  man  and 
horse  became  silent  instantly,  and  from  precaution. 

More  than  one  neigh  had  responded  to  that  of  Holtspur's  steed » 
which  the  cavalier  knew  were  not  echoes,  but  proceeded  from  horses 
approaching  the  spot. 

Suddenly  checking  his  laughter,  and  giving  his  own  steed  a  signal 
to  be  still,  he  remained  listening. 

The  neighing  of  the  strange  horses  had  been  heard  at  a  distance  ' 
M  if  (rem  some  cavalcade  coming  up  the  road  by  Ked  Hili.    In  timc^ 


m 


AN   ESCORTED   C50T3IIIE&. 


there  were  other  sounds  to  confirm  the  surmise :  the  clanking  of  sabr«& 
against  iron  stirrups  and  the  hoof-strokes  of  the  horses  themselves 

"A  troop !  "  muttered  Holtspur.  "  Some  of  Scarthe's  following,  I 
suppose,  from  an  errand  to  Uxbridge  ?  Come,  Hubert !  They  must 
not  meet  us." 

A  touch  of  the  spur,  with  a  slight  pull  upon  the  bridle  rein,  guided 
the  well-trained  steed  behind  the  hovel ;  where,  under  the  shadow  of 
Some  leafy  boughs,  he  was  once  more  brought  to  a  stand. 

Soon  thd  hoof-strokes  sounded  more  distinctly ;  as  also  the  clank  of 
the  scabbards,  the  tinkling  of  the  spur-rowels,  and  curb-chains. 

The  voices  of  the  men  were  also  mingled  with  these  sounds ;  and 
both  they  and  their  horses,  soon  after,  emerged  from  the  shadows  of 
the  thicket,  and  entered  the  opening  by  the  hut.     , 

There  were  seven  of  them ;  the  odd  one  in  advance  of  the  others, 
who  were  riding  two  and  two  behind  him. 

A  glance  at  their  habiliments  proclaimed  them  to  be  men  of  mili- 
tary calling,  an  oflQcer  accompanied  by  an  escort. 

As  they  arrived  in  front  of  the  hovel,  the  leader  halted,  command- 
ing the  others  to  follow  his  example. 

The  movement  was  sudden,  apparently  improvised  on  the  part  of  the 
officer,  as  unexpected  by  his  folio vdng.  It  was  evidently  the  appear, 
ance  of  the  ruin  that  had  caused  it  to  be  made. 

"Sergeant!"  said  the  leader  of  the  little  troop,  addressing  him- 
self to  one  of  the  men  who  rode  nearest  to  him ;  "  this  must  be  the 
place  where  the  king's  courier  was  stopped  !  There's  the  ruined  hov- 
el he  spoke  about ;  and  this  I  take  to  be  Jarret's  Heath.  What  say 
yon?" 

"  It  must  be  that  place,  major,"  replied  the  sergeant ;  **it  can't  be 
no  other.  We've  come  fiiU  four  miles  from  Uxbridge,  and  should 
now  be  close  to  the  park  of  Bulstrode.  This  be  Jarret's  Heath  for 
sure." 

"  What  a  pity  those  rascals  don't  show  themselves  to-night  I'd 
give  something  to  carry  them  back  with  me  bound  hand  and  foot.  It 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  poor  Cunliffe,  whom  they  stripped  so  clean ; 
leaving  him  nothing  but  his  stockings.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha !  I  should  like 
to  have  seen  that  noted  court  dandy,  as  he  must  have  appeared  just 
here — ^under  the  moonlight.    Ha !  ha !  ha  ! " 

"  I  fancy  I  heard  the  neighing  of  a  horse  in  this  direction  ?  "  con' 
tinned  the  leader  of  the  little  troop.  "  If  the  fellows  who  plundered 
the  courier  hadn't  been  footpads,  w )  might  have  hoped  to  encountef 
ihem '* 


AN   ESCORTED    lOUEIBB.  \6J 

••Ton  forget,  major,"  rejoined  the  sergeant,  "that  Master  Cui> 
lilTfl  horse  was  taken  from  him.  Maybe  the  captain  of  the  robbers  ia 
no  longer  a  footpad,  but  mounted ! '' 

"No — no,"  rejoined  the  officer,  "the  neighing  we  heard  was  from 
■omo  farmer's  hack  running  loose  in  the  pastures.  Forward  !  we've 
already  lost  to  much  time.  If  this  be  Jarret's  Heath,  we  must  bo 
near  the  end  of  our  errand.     Forward  !  " 

Saying  this  the  leader  of  the  band,  close  followed  by  the  treble  file 
of  troopers,  dashed  forward  along  the  road — ^their  accoutrements,  and 
the  hoofs  of  their  horses,  making  a  noise  that  hindered  them  from 
hearing  the  scornful,  half  involuntary  laugh  sent  after  them  from  the 
cavalier  concealed  under  the  shadow  of  the  hut. 

"Another  king's  courier  for  Scarthe!  "  muttered  Holtspun  as  he 
headed  his  horse  once  mdre  to  the  road.  "  No  doubt  the  duplicate  of 
that  precious  dispatch !  Ha !  ha !  His  Majesty  seems  determined 
that  this  time  it  shall  reach  its  destination.  An  escort  of  six  troop- 
ers !  Notwithstanding  with  all  that,  and  the  bravado  of  their  leader, 
if  I  had  coughed  loud  enough  for  them  to  hear  me,  I  believe  they'd 
have  scampered  off  a  little  faster  than  they  are  now  going.  These 
conceited  satellites  of  royalty — 'cavaliers/  as  they  affectedly  call 
themselves — are  the  veriest  poltroons ;  brave  only  in  words.  Oh !  that 
the  hour  were  come,  when  Englishmen  may  be  prevailed  upon  to  de- 
mand their  rights  at  the  point  of  the  sword ;  the  only  mode  by  which 
they  will  ever  obtain,  them !  Then  may  I  hope  to  see  such  swagger- 
ers scattered  like  chaff,  and  fleeing  before  the  soldiers  of  liberty  I 
God  grant  the  time  may  be  near !  Hubert  let  us  on  and  hasten  it  I  ' 
Hubert,  ever  willing,  obeyed  the  slight  signal  vouchsafed  to  him . 
and  spreading  his  limbs  to  the  road,  rapidly  bore  his  master  to  the 
smmnit  of  Red  Hill ;  then  down  its  sloping  declivity ;  and  on  through 
the  fertile,  fkr-stretching  meadows  of  the  Colne. 


IM  tHB  SAKAGEN^S    IBAlU 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

VHB  SABAOBK'S  head 


The  Saracen's  Head  stood  on  an  exact  half  mile  from  the  Cclne  riT« 
•r,  and  the  end  of  Uxbridge  town.  To  reach  it  from  the  latter,  it 
was  necessary  to  cross  over  the  quaint  old  bridge,  whence  the  place 
derives  its  name. 

It  was  a  roadside  inn,  old  as  the  bridge  itself— perhaps  ancient  as 
the  Crusades,  from  which  its  cognomen  had  come.  It  was  the  inn  at 
which  Scarthe  and  his  cuirassiers  had  made  their  night  halt,  when 
proceedmg  to  Bulstrode  Park ;  the  same  afterwards  known— -as  it  is 
to  the  present  day — ^by  the  appellation  of  Queen'' s  Head,  The  altered 
lettering  on  its  sign-board  was  not  the  act  of  the  honest  Saxon  Boni- 
face, who  held  it  at  the  time  of  the  first  Charles ;  but  of  a  plush-clad 
proprietor,  who  succeeded  him  during  the  servile  days  of  the  Kes- 
toration. 

While  in  Master  Jarvis'  occupancy  it  might  have  born  a  titl« 
equally  as  appropriate,  and  perhaps  more  significant  than  either — 
the  King's  Head ;  since  under  its  roof,  this  phrase  was  fi'equently 
whispered — sometimes  loudly  pronounced — with  a  peculiar  signifi- 
cance—one very  difierent  from  the  idea  usually  attached  to  it.  It 
may  be,  that  words  spoken,  and  thoughts  exchanged  within  the  walls 
of  the  old  hostelry  led  to  a  king's  losing  his  head;  or,  at  all  events, 
precipitated  that  just  and  proper  event. 

On  the  same  night  that  Henry  Holtspur  was  riding  down  Red  Hill, 
with  the  Saracen's  Head  as  the  declared  goal  of  his  journey,  and 
nbout  the  same  hour,  a  number  of  pedestrians,  not  all  going  together, 
^ut  in  scattered  groups  of  two,  three,  and  four,  might  have  been  seen 
crossing  the  Colne  river  at  Uxbridge ;  who,  after  clearing  the  cause- 
way of  the  bridge,  continued  on  up  the  road,  in  the  direction  of  the 
fnn. 

On  reaching  it — one  group  after  the  other — they  were  seen  to  enter, 
after  giving  a  preliminary  challenge  or  greeting  to  its  host,  who  re- 
ceived them  by  the  door  as  they  came  up. 

This  reception  continued,  until  at  least  fifty  men  had  glided  insidt 
the  ivy-grown  portico  of  the  Saracen's  Head. 


m 

Thej  were  all  men,  nothing  in  woman's  shape  or  apparel  ap^&ring 
amongst  them. 

They  were  men  in  the  humbler  walks  of  life,  though  not  the  very 
humblest.  Their  dresses  betokened  them  to  be  artizans,  and  of  dif 
ferent  callings,  as  proclaimed  by  the  various  costiunes ;  for  in  thost 
days  the  costume  told  the  trade. 

Nor  did  they  appear  to  be  habited  for  any  particular  occasion.  Tht 
butcher  was  in  his  long  leathern  boots,  redolent  of  suet ;  the  miller, 
in  white  cap,  hoary  with  the  "  stoor  "  of  the  mill ;  the  blacksmith, 
with  wide  hose  hidden  under  an  apron  of  singed  sheepskin ;  and  the 
tailor's  jour,  with  his  bowed  legs  encased  in  a  covering  of  cotton 
Telveteen. 

In  some  of  the  groups  there  were  individuals  of  a  more  pretentioua 
appearance :  men  who  wore  beaver  hats,  and  doublets  of  superior 
quality,  with  sound  russet  boots,  white  linen  cuffs  and  collars.  Still 
was  there  about  their  garments  a  certain  commonness  of  cut  that 
proclaimed  the  wearers  to  be  of  the  class  of  small  shop-keepers — ^in 
modern  days  miscalled  tradesmen. 

On  any  evening — especially  if  the  weather  chanced  to  be  fine — a 
few  such  individuals  might  have  been  seen  seeking  the  hospitality  of 
the  Saracen's  Head,  for  its  tap  was  one  of  the  most  popular,  and  at- 
tracted customers  even  from  Uxbridge.  On  the  night  in  question^ 
however,  the  great  number  of  guests — as  well  as  the  lateness  of  the 
hour  at  which  they  were  seeking  the  noted  rendezvous— told  of  some 
purpose  more  important  than  merely  to  imbibe  Master  Jarvis'  cele- 
brated brewage. 

There  was  an  air  of  business  about  the  men  as  they  marched  along 
the  road ;  and  in  their  muttered  conversations  could  be  distinguished 
a  tone  of  earnestness  that  betokened  some  serious  subject.  They  did 
not  loiter,  like  men  strolling  out  for  an  evening's  pastime,  but  walked 
briskly  forward  as  bent  upon  an  errand,  or  keeping  some  preconcerted 
appointment. 

As  already  stated,  the  landlord  jf  the  inn  received  the  different 
groups.  There  was  something  mysterious  in  this  worldless  welcome 
— so  unusual  at  the  Saracen's  Head,  the  more  so  as  on  the  broad 
open  countenance  of  its  owner  there  was  no  trace  of  cl  urlishness. 
Equally  mysterious  might  have  appeared  a  circumstance  )bserved  aa 
the  guests  came  up  to  the  door : — each  raising  his  right  aand  within 
a  few  inches  of  Master  Jarvis'  nose,  with  the  thumb  bent  inward, 
holding  the  band*  aeoondor  two  in  that  pojiition,  and  then  withdraw 


ITS 

Tii«  mjBUsf  could  oiL'y  be  explained  by  presumiug  that  ihi»  WM  i 
Bignal,  and  the  slight  assenting  nod  with  which  it  was  answered  vrai 
simply  a  permission  to  enter. 

It  might  have  been  observed,  moreover,  that  the  guests  so  Bignal 
ing,  hirftead  of  going  towards  the  common  or  tap-room  of  the  inn^ 
proceeded  through  a  long  corridor — leading  to  the  interior  of  the  es- 
tablishment— where  a  large  and  much  better  appointed  apartment  had 
been  arranged  to  receive  them. 

Others  who  entered  the  house  without  giving  the  thv/nih  signal, 
greeted  the  landlord  in  a  diiferent  way,  and  were  shown  towards  th« 
tap-room,  or  walked  on,  as  was  their  wont,  without  invitation. 

For  more  than  an  hour  these  groups  of  men  continued  to  arrive  up 
the  road  from  Uxbridge.  At  the  same  time  other  men — though  not 
in  such  numbers — might  have  been  seen  coming  down  the  same  road 
from  the  direction  of  Red  Hill,  and  Denham ;  and  also  along  by-paths 
from  the  villages  of  Harefield  and  Iver. 

Some  difference  might  have  been  noticed  between  these,  and  the  men 
who  came  from  Uxbridge — the  former  by  their  style  of  dress  and  gen- 
eral appearance  being  evidently  denizens  of  the  country — grasiers  or 
farmers— and  not  a  few  of  them  having  the  substantial  look  of  inde- 
pendence that  bespoke  the  freeholder. 

All,  however,  were  moving  towards  the  inn  with  a  like  motive — as 
each  of  them  upon  entering  was  seen  to  offer  to  its  owner  that  silent 
masonic  salute,  which  admitted  them  into  the  secret  interior  of  th« 
establishment. 

Of  those  who  came  in  from  the  country,  not  a  few  were  on  horse- 
back, as  if  they  had  ridden  from  a  distance;  and  the  ample  stables 
were  soon  almost  as  well  filled — and  perhaps  more  profitable — ^than 
when  Scarthe  and  his  cuirassiers  had  honored  the  inn  vrith  their  pat- 
ronage. 

Among  the  last  who  rode  up  was  a  horseman  of  distinguished 
inien,  whose  dress  and  equipments — but  still  more  the  steed  he  be- 
strode, and  the  style  of  his  equitation — proclaimed  him  to  be  differ- 
ent, from  all  the  others.  Even  under  the  deceptive  light  of  the  moon 
there  was  no  mistaking  him  for  a  common  man.  His  free,  graceful 
bearing,  declared  the  cavalier. 

To  the  landlord,  and  a  few  others  just  entering  the  inn,  he  wa« 
mdlvidually  known.  These,  as  he  rode  forward  to  the  door,  could 
be  heard  whispering  to  one  another  that  phrase  that  had  l^telj  k^ 
60io«  pf  «li^o«t  qibftti^tlc  import — the  bl^icle  hgriemani, 


THK  sabacen's  heaj>.  ITS 

He  dismounted ;  and  without  hesitancy  entered  along  with  th« 
rest  -simply  nodding  to  them  as  he  passed. 

Iv  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  hold  up  his  thumb  before  the  eye  a 
of  the  stalwart  door-keeper.  This  precaution  against  the  admission 
©f  traitorous  spies  was  not  required  in  the  case  of  Henry  Holtspur 
^he  owner  of  the  hostelry  knew  the  master  of  the  ceremonies  about 
to  be  performed  under  its  roof;  and  the  latter,  passing  bim  with  a 
significant  smile,  kept  on  unattended  along  the  dimly  lit  corridor — as 
one  Avho  had  oft  trodden  it  before. 

With  like  familiarity,  he  opened  the  door  of  the  inner  apartment^ 
now  filled  with  men — whose  manifold  voices  mingUng  with  earnest 
conversation  could  be  heard  even  to  the  entrance  outside. 

Suddenly  the  sounds  became  hushed ;  but  only  for  an  instant. 
Then  arose  something  more  than  a  murmur  of  applause — amidst 
which  could  be  heard,  in  many  an  enthusiastic  repetition,  the  name 
of  him  who  had  entered  and  the  sobriquet  by  which  to  most  of  them 
he  was  better  known. 

Though  the  massive  door  of  oak  closing  again  hindered  the  voices 
from  being  any  longer  heard  outside,  the  conversation  was  not  dis- 
continued. Only  was  it  conducted  into  its  true  channel — the  master 
mind  of  that  enthusiastic  assemblage  guiding  it  in  its  course. 

It  might  have  been  termed  treasonable — if  such  phrase  can  be  ap- 
plied to  speech  condemning  the  conduct  of  the  uxorious  tyrant. 
Freely  were  the  acts  of  the  king  commented  upon,  and  his  late  edicts 
discussed;  until  some  of  the  speakers,  becoming  inspired — partly 
by  the  intoxicating  tap  of  the  Saracen's  Head,  which,  at  the  cost  of 
the  cavalier,  circulated  without  stint,  and  partly  from  the  smart  of 
some  recent  wrong — shook  their  clenched  fists  in  the  air,  to  render 
more  emphatic  their  vows  of  vengean^^e. 

On  that  night,  in  the  conclave  held  in  the  hostelry  of  the  Saracen's 
Head,  was  foreshadowed  a  spectacle — not  long  after  to  be  realized 
and  even  witnessed  by  some  there  present — a  king  standing  upon  a 
scaffold  I  . 

"  Thank  the  Lord !  *'  muttered  Holtspur  to  himself,  as  he  sprang 
into  his  saddle,  and  headed  Hubert  for  the  hills.  "  Thank  the  Lord 
for  all  His  mercies  ! "  added  he,  in  the  phraseology  of  some  of  his 
Puritan  co-conspirators  late  ringing  in  his  ears.  "  There  can  be  na 
mistaking  the  temper  of  these  fellows.  After  ten  years  of  tyranni- 
cal usurpation  they're  aroused  at  last.  The  time  is  come,  not  only 
for  i^  4f  throB^ment  9f  %  t?raut,  \i\k%  t%^  ^stal^U^hing  i^  4^49  M 


174 

England  the  only  form  of  government  that  is  not  %  mockery  ti 
common  sense — ^the  only  one  upon  which  Liberty  may  rely — ^tht 
KepubHc!'' 

After  he  had  giren  utterance  to  this  speech,  a  smile — ^half  of  rt- 
gretful  bitterness,  half  of  contempt — not  only  for  his  fellow  country- 
men, but  his  fellow  men — cynically  shadowed  his  countenance :  for 
the  sentiment  so  expressed  naturally  led  him  to  reflect  how  few  there 
were  in  his  own  country  who  shared  it  with  him ! 

Holtspur  lived  in  »  time  when  the  word  republic  was  scarcely 
ever  heard;  or,  when  heard,  only  ill-understood  and  scoffed  at  as  a 
dream  of  the  enthusiast.  Not  that  he  had  himself  any  doubt  as  to 
its  true  signification.  Perfectly  did  he  comprehend  its  import- 
awful — grand — ^including  the  whole  theory  of  human  happiness,  and 
man's  misery.  Even  in  those  times  of  tyrannical  persecution — when 
Laud  lorded  it  over  the  souls,  and  Strafford  over  the  bodies  of  men 
—or  even,  still  later,  when,  with  impunity,  the  Waldense  Protestant 
could  be  impaled  upon  the  spear  of  the  Inquisition — there  were  men 
and  minds  who  could  not  be  coerced  to  deny  the  divine  origin  of  de- 
mocracy, and  believe  in  the  pseudo  "  divine  right "  of  kings. 

Not  in  those  times  alone,  but  in  all  ages ;  for  time  cannot  altei 
truth.  A  circle  was  a  circle,  before  God  made  man  to  trace  its  cur- 
vature !  and  when  God  made  men,  he  intended  them  to  govern  them- 
selves uncontrolled  by  tyrants. 

That  they  have  not  done  so,  does  not  prove  an  error  in  the  inten- 
tion. The  circumference  of  the  circle,  imperfect  by  some  interrup- 
tion, does  not  argue  the  non-existence  of  the  curve.  No  more  in 
early  ages — ^no  more  in  mediasval  times,  no  more  noWy  does  the  non- 
existence of  the  pure  republic  prove  that  it  is  not  the  proper  form. 
It  is  the  proper  form,  the  only  one  recognized  by  the  laws  of  right 
and  truth.  He  who  does  not  acknowledge  this  must  be  the  owner 
either  of  a  bad  head  or  a  had  heart.  On  either  horn  of  the  dilemnxa 
does  he  hang  who  denies  the  republic ! 

Is  there  such  a  man,  or  thing  in  human  shape !  I  cannot  think 
there  is.  Thinking  so,  I  could  not  avoid  imitating  my  hero,  in  that 
scornful  contempt  that  expressed  itself  on  his  countenance,  while  re- 
flecting how  few  there  were  who  participated  in  his  sentiments. 

Ah !  had  he  lived  in  the  present  time,  he  would  have  witr.essed 
gtrange  proofs  of  their  truth.  He  would  have  recognized,  as  I  do,  in 
what  others  call  the  failure  of  republican  institutions,  their  prou'lc&l 
triumph.    He  WQuld  h^ve  seen  thirty  niiUion#  of  men,  comparatively 


17ft 

with  tlie  rest  of  their  race,  transfcrmed  into  giants,  by  the  influenot 
of  less  than  a  century  of  republican  training !  He  would  have  seen 
them  divided  into  two  parties,  warring  against  each  other  like  Titans 
of  the  olden  time ;  and  seeing  this,  he  could  have  come  to  no  other 
conclusion,  than  that,  united  these  thirty  millions  of  republican 
people  would  have  been  a  match  for  the  whole  monarchial  world. 

Henry  Holtspur  did  not  need  to  dive  into  futurity  for  facts  to 
substantiate  his  belief  in  a  republican  form  of  government.  His 
conviction  came  from  the  past,  from  the  sources  of  eternal  truth. 
The  sarcasm  expressed  upon  his  features  was  caused  by  the 
contempt  which  a  noble  soul  must  naturally  feel,  for  those  things 
in  human  shape  who  believe,  or  pretend  it,  in  the  "  divine  right  "  of 
kings. 

The  cloud  lingered,  until  he  had  turned  into  the  forest  road,  and 
came  in  sight  of  the  old  beech,  that  tree  whose  umbrageous  branches 
overshadowed,  to  him,  the  sweetest  and  most  sacred  spot  upon 
earth. 

Once  agam  he  drew  up  under  its  canopy,  once  again  gaied  upoa 
the  white  gauntlet,  till  love  absorbed  his  every  thought,  even  to 
the  exclusion  of  that  political  passion,  the  r^pubHe. 


OHAPTSB  XXXL 

WLMOmr*B  PAUOHTJU. 


The  domicile  of  Dick  Dancey  could  scarce  with  correctness  be 
called  a  house.  Even  cottage  would  be  too  dignified  a  name  for 
(he  wooden  hovel,  in  which  the  woodman  and  his  family  habitually 
found  shelter  from  the  rain  and  wind. 

To  the  latter  the  house  itself  was  but  little  exposed;  for,  when 
a  tempest  raged,  before  striking  on  the  frail  structure,  its  fury 
was  expended  upon  the  giant  beeches  of  Wapsey*s  Wood,  thai 
stretched  their  protecting  arms  over  and  around  it. 

It  was  a  cabin  of  rough  logs,  clayed  between  the  chinks,  vid 
roofed  with  a  thatch  of  rushes,  such,  excepting  the  roof,  as  aught 
be  seen  at  the  present  day  in  the  backwoods  of  America. 


176 

A  narrow  doorway,  barely  wide  enough  to  admit  the  big  body  ol 
the  woodman  himself;  two  or  three  small  windows,  with  diminutive 
panes  of  glass  set  in  lead ;  an  enclosure  of  limited  dimensions,  girt 
with  a  flimsy  paling,  designed  for  a  garden,  but  grown  into  a  weed- 
bed  ;  a  stack  of  fire  fagots ;  a  shed  that  gave  occasional  shelter  to  a 
scraggy  cob ;  a  clay-bedaubed  kennel  containing  a  large  fierce-looking 
mongrel,  the  cross  between  sheep-dog  and  deer-hound ;  these  wert 
the  principal  features  in  the  external  aspect  of  Dick  Dancey's  house- 
hold. 

The  interior  view  was  equally  rude,  and  equally  simple.  A  kitchen 
with  a  clay  floor,  and  clay-plastered  walls,  against  which  stood  upon 
shelves,  or  hung  upon  pegs,  a  sparse  collection  of  utensils ;  some 
dingy  old  prints  on  common  paper,  and  in  cheap  frames ;  a  strtng  o! 
onions;  another  of  rabbit- skins;  and  close  by,  the  freshly-flayed 
hide  of  a  fallow  deer.  Traps,  gins,  nets,  and  other  implements  for 
taking  forest  game  and  fish  were  visible  in  a  corner  by  themselves ; 
and  in  another  corner  lay  a  large  woodea  ax,  the  implement  of  the 
owner's  proper  calling.  On  the  floor  stood  a  beech-wood  table, 
with  half  a  dozen  rush-bottomed  chairs,  and  some  culinary  utensils 
of  red  earthenware ;  while  in  the  cavity,  representing  a  fire-place, 
two  large  stones  did  duty  for  andirons. 

The  kitchen  was  everything — the  two  rooms,  the  only  others  in 
the  house — were  both  bed-chambers;  and  both  of  very  limited 
divisions.  Each  contained  only  a  single  bed ;  but  one  of  the  rooms 
was  furnished  a  little  better  than  its  fellow ; — that  is,  the  bed  had 
sheets  and  a  coverlet ;  while  the  other  was  only  a  shakedown  of 
straw  rushes,  with  some  rags  of  coarse  grogram,  and  a  couple  of  deer- 
skins for  bed-clothes. 

In  the  first  chamber  there  was  a  chair  or  two,  and  a  small  table 
placed  against  the  wall.  Over  this  glistened  a  piece  of  broken 
mirror,  attached  to  the  plastered  surface,  by  a  couple  of  rusty  nails 
bent  against  the  edges  of  the  glass,  A  cotton  pin-cushion ;  two  or 
three  common  side-combs  for  holding  up  the  hair ;  a  small  brush  of 
bristles ;  a  pair  of  white  linen  cuffs,  that  showed  signs  of  having 
been  more  than  once  worn  since  washing;  with  some  minor  articles 
of  female  apparel,  all  lying  upon  the  table,  told  the  occupant  of  the 
chamber  to  be  a  woman. 

It  was  the  sleeping-room  of  Bet  Dancey — ^the  daughter  of  tht 
daei -stalker,  and  the  only  member  of  his  family,  fhe  other  apmrt' 
viiQt  WM  the  dormitory  of  Dick  himself. 


m 

The  bed-rooms,  however,  were  of  inferior  importance :  sine*  hoti 
Dick  and  his  daughter  lived  habitually  in  the  kitchen.  They  wert 
both  to  be  found  there  on  the  fourth  day  after  the/^e,  At  which  thf 
beautiful  Betsey  had  cut  such  a  conspicuous  figure. 

Dick  was  seated  at  the  table,  engaged  in  the  agreeable  occupation 
of  eating.  A  mug  of  beer,  the  fragments  of  a  loaf  of  bread,  and 
Bome  ribs  of  roast  venison,  were  the  viands  before  him. 

It  was  his  breakfast ;  though  the  sun  shining  down  through  the 
tops  of  the  beeches  betokened  it  near  dinner-time ;  and  Bet  had 
breakfasted  some  hours  earlier.  But  Dick  had  returned  home  late 
the  night  before — fatigued  after  a  long  journey — and  in  consequence 
had  snored  upon  his  shakedown  of  straw,  until  the  bells  of  Bulstrode 
were  tolling  twelve. 

From  the  conversation  carried  on  between  him  and  his  daughter, 
it  was  evident  that,  up  to  that  hour,  not  many  words  had  passed 
between  them  since  his  coming  home. 

"  Ha  theer  he'd  any  un  here,  gurl?  " 

**Yes.    One  of  the  soldiers  from  the  Park  has  been  here — twice.** 

**Oneo'the  sogers !"  muttered  Dick,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed 
unpleasantness.  "  Dang  it,  that's  queery !  Did  he  tell  thee  his 
errand  ?  " 

"Only  that  he  wanted  to  see  you,** 

"  Wanted  to  see  me !    Art  sure  o'  that,  gurl?  ** 

**He  said  so,  father." 

"  Thou*rt  sure  he  didn't  come  to  see  thee  f " 

The  woodman  as  he  asked  this  question,  gazed  scrutinizingly  upon 
the  countenance  of  his  daughter. 

"  Oh,  no,  father ! "  replied  Betsey,  without  flinching  from  his 
gaze.  **  What  could  he  want  with  me  ?  He  said  he  had  a  message 
for  yourself;  and  that  his  captain,  wished  to  speak  with  you  on 
some  business." 

"  Bizness  wi'  his  captain !  Hech !  Did  he  say  nothin'  o'  what 
it  be'd  about?" 

"No." 

"  Nor  made  no  inquiries  o*  any  kind  ?  ** 

"He  only  asked  me  if  I  knew  Mr.  Henry  Holtspur,  and  where  he 
nved." 

"  What  did'st  thee  teU  him  ?  " 

"  I  said  that  you  knew  him ;  and  that  he  Uved  i^t  the  old  liovM  il 
Btone  Dwa.*' 


178 

The  beautiful  Betsey  did  not  think  it  necessary  lo  infonn  bel 

father  that  the  cuirassier  had  said  a  good  deal  more ;  since  it  was  in 
the  shape  of  gallant  speeches,  and  related  only  to  herself. 

"Makin  inquiries  'bout  him!*'  muttered  Dancey  to  himself. 
"I  shudn't  wonder  if  theer  be  somethin*  aflt.  Muster  Holtspul 
must  be  toldo't  an'  at  once.  I'll  go  over  theer  soon's  I've  ate  my 
breakfast.  Wull's  been  here  too,"  he  continued,  once  more  address- 
ing his  daughter,  though  not  interrogatively.  **  I  see'd  him  last 
night,  when  I  got  to  Muster  Holtspur's.    He  told  me  he'd  been." 

"  Yes — he  has  been  twice.  The  last  time  he  came  was  when  the 
other  was  hei*e.     They  had  some  angry  words." 

"Angry  words,  eh !     What  he'd  they  about,  gurl?  *• 

"I  am  sure  I  can't  tell,  father.  You  know  Will  always  gets  out 
of  temper,  when  any  one  speaks  to  me.  Indeed,  I  can't  bear  it ; 
and  won't  any  longer.  He  taunted  me  that  day ;  and  said  a  many 
things  he'd  no  right  to.*' 

"  I  tell  thee,  gurl,  WuU  Walford  have  a  right  to  talk  to  thee  as  he 
pleases.  He  is  thy  friend,  gurl;  and  means  it  only  for  thy  good. 
Thou  beest  too  short  wi'  the  lad ;  and  say'st  things,  for  I've  heard 
thee  myself,  that  would  aggruvate  the  best  friend  thee  hast  i'  the 
world.  Thou  wilt  do  well  to  change  thy  tone ;  or  Wull  Walford 
may  get  tired  o'  thy  tricks,  an'  go  a  speerin'  som'ere  else  for  a 
wife." 

**I  wish  he  would! "  was  the  reply  that  stood  ready  on  the  tip 
of  Bet's  tongue ;  but  which  from  a  wholesome  dread  of  the  paternal 
temper — ^more  than  once  terribly  exhibited  on  this  subject — ^was  left 
unspoken. 

"I  tell  thee,  gurl,  I've  see'd  Wull  Walford  last  night,  I've  talked 
wi*  him  a  bit ,  an*  I  reckon  as  how  he'U  ha'  somethin*  seerus  to 
•ay  to  thee  'fore  long." 

The  dark  cloud  that  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  girl  told 
that  she  comprehended  the  nature  of  the  "  something  '*  thus  con- 
Jecturally  foreshadowed. 

"Now,  Bet,"  added  the  woodman,  having  laid  bare  the  roasted 
rib,  and  emptied  the  beer-mug ;  "  bring  me  my  old  hat,  and  the  long 
hazel  staff.  I  be  a  gooin'  over  to  the  Dean ;  an'  as  that  poor  beest 
be  well-nigh  done  up,  I  maun  walk.  Maybe  Muster  Holtspur  moat 
eoom  here,  while  I  be  gone  theer.  I  know  he  wants  to  see  ma 
aarly,  an'  I  ha'  overslept  myself.  He  sayed  he  might  coom.  If  he 
do,  tell  un  I'll  be  back  m  a  jiff— if  I  doan't  find  *im  over  theer,  otf 
loeet  'imon  the  mf  ** 


dancet's  daughter.  179 

And  with  this  injunction,  tli©  gigantic  deer-stealer  p<iueez©d 
himself  through  the  narrow  doorway  of  his  hovel;  and,  turning  in 
the  direction  of  Stone  Dean,  strode  off  under  the  shadowy  bougha 
of  Wapsey's  Wood  beeches. 

He  was  scarce  out  of  sight  when  Bet,  stepping  back  from  the  dooi^ 
glided  into  her  httle  chamber ;  and,  seizing  the  brush  of  bristloSi 
began  drawing  it  through  the  long  tresses  of  her  hair. 

In  that  piece  of  broken  glass,  with  a  disc  not  bigger  than  a  dinnef 
plate,  was  reflected  a  face  with  which  the  most  critical  connoisseui 
of  female  beauty  could  scarce  have  found  fault. 

The  features  were  of  the  true  gipsy  type,  the  aquiline  nose,  the 
wild  hawk-like  eye,  the  skin  of  golden  brown,  and  thick  crow-black 
hair  overshadowing  all.  There  was  a  form,  too,  beneath,  which, 
^ough  muscular  almost  as  a  man's,  and  with  limbs  large  and  vigor- 
ous, was,  nevertheless,  of  tempting  toumure.  It  was  no  wonder  that 
Marion  Wade  had  deemed  it  worthy  the  admiration  of  Henry  Holt- 
spur — no  wonder  that  Henry  Holtspur  had  deemed  Will  Walford 
unworthy  of  possessing  it. 

"  He  coming  here !  And  to  find  me  in  this  drabby  dress,  with  my 
hair  hanging  Uke  the  tail  of  father's  old  horse !  I  should  sink  througk 
the  floor  for  very  shame  ! 

**  I  trust  I  shall  be  in  time  to  titivate  myself.  Bother  my  hair !  it*l 
a  yard  too  long,  and  a  mile  too  thick.  It  takes  as  much  trouble  to 
plait  as  would  weave  a  hank  of  homespun. 

"It'll  do  now.  Stick  where  I  stick  you, ye  ugly  comb!  Will^i 
gift.    Little  do  I  prize  it,  troth ! 

"  Now  for  my  Sunday  gown,  my  cuffs  and  ruffs.  They're  not 
quite  so  grand  as  those  of  Mistress  Marion  Wade;  but  I  flatter  my- 
self they're  not  amiss.  If  I  were  only  allowed  to  wear  gloves — 
pretty  gauntlets,  like  those  I've  seen  on  her  hands,  small  and  white 
as  the  drifted  snow!  Ah!  there,  I'm  far  behind  her:  my  poor 
hands  are  red  and  big;  they've  had  to  work  and  weave;  while  hers, 
I  dare  say,  never  touched  a  distaff.  Oh !  that  T  could  wear  glovea 
to  cover  these  ugly  fingers  of  mine.    But  no — I  daren't.      The 

village  girls  would  laugh  at  me,  and  call  me   a .    I  won't 

•ay  the  word.    Never  mind  for  the  gloves.    Should  he  come,  I'll 
keep  my  hands  under  my  apron,  so  that  he  shan't  see  a  finger." 

Thus  soUloquized  Bet  Dancey  in  front  of  her  bit  of  broken  look 
mg'glass. 

It  was  not  Will  Walford  who  had   summoned  up  her  ludicrouf 
goliloquy  ;  nor  yet  the  cuirassier — he  who  had  called  twice,     for 


1^  t)AKCBY^8   DAUGHTJS. 

neither  of  theso  Was  the  dark-haired  damsel  arraying  herself  in  btf 
flaunting  finery.  The  lure  was  being  set  for  higher  game — foi 
Henry  Holtspur. 

"  I  hope  father  mayn't  meet  him  on  the  way.  He'll  be  sure  to 
turn  him  back  if  he  do ;  for  father  likes  better  to  go  to  Stone  Dean 
than  for  him  to  come  here.  Luckily  there's  two  paths ;  and  father 
always  takes  the  short  cut — by  which  he  never  comes. 

**  Ha !  the  dog  barks !  'Tis  some  one !  Mercy  on  me  !  If't  b« 
him  I'm  not  half  ready  to  receive  him.  Stay  in,  you  nasty  comb  ! 
It's  too  short  in  the  teeth.  Will's  no  judge  of  combs,  or  he'd  a 
bought  me  a  better.  After  all, "  concluded  she,  bending  down  before 
the  bit  of  glass,  and  taking  a  final  survey  of  her  truly  beautiful 
face,  "  I  think  I'll  do.  Perhaps  I'm  not  so  pretty  as  Mistress 
Marion  Wade;  but  I'm  sure  I'm  as  good-looking  as  Mistress  Doro- 
thy   Dayrell.     The    dog  again!     It  must  be  somebody;  I  hope 

'tis " 

Leaving  the  name  unpronounced,  the  girl  glided  back  into  the 
kitchen ;  and,  crossing  it  with  quick  step,  stood  once  more  within 
the  doorway. 

As  yet  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  The  dog  was  barking  at  some- 
thing that  had  roused  him  either  by  scent  or  sound.  But  the  ^irl 
knew  that  the  animal  rarely  erred  in  this  wise ;  and  that  something 
—either  man  or  beast — ^must  be  approaching  the  hut. 

She  was  not  kept  long  in  suspense,  as  to  who  was  the  coming 
^sitor;  though  the  hope,  to  which  she  had  given  thought,  had  well 
nigh  departed  before  that  visitor  came  within  view.  The  dog  was 
making  his  demonstration  towards  the  south.  The  path  to  Stone 
Dean  led  northward  from  the  cottage.  Henry  Holtspur,  if  coming 
fiom  home,  should  appear  in  the  latter  direction. 

The  girl  knew  of  another  visitor  who  might  be  expected  by  the 
southern  path,  and  at  any  hour.  In  that  direction  dwelt  Will  Wal- 
Ibrd.     It  might  be  he  ? 

A  shadow  of  disappointment  swept  over  her  face,  accompanying 
this  conjecture.  It  seemed  to  say,  how  little  welcome  just  then 
would  Will  Walford  be. 

Such  must  have  been  its  signification :  for  at  sight  of  this  individu- 
%1 — the  moment  after  advancing  along  the  path — the  shadow  on  hef 
countenance  sensibly  deepened. 

"  How  very  provoking  !  "  muttered  she.  ^*  At  such  a  time,  too— . 
luat  atf  I  had  hope*  of  seeiaiar  i*«»       if  *4  should  come*  too— «Te» 


It) 

though  his  errand  be  to  father — I  shouldnH  wonder  if  TV  lU  fras  t« 
make  some  trouble.  He's  been  jealous  ever  since  he  saw  me  givft 
Master  Holtspur  the  flowers — worse  about  him  than  any  one.  Will'a 
right  there ;  tHough  the  cither's  not  to  blame — no,  no— only  myself. 
I  wish  he  were  a  little  m  fault.  Then  I  shouldn't  mind  Will's  jeal- 
ousy; nor  he,  I'm  sure.  Oh!  if  he  loved  me,  I  shouldn't  care  fo/ 
aught,  01  anybody,  in  the  wide  world !  " 

Having  made  this  self-confession,  she  stepped  back  into  the  door- 
way; and,  standing  upon  the  stoop,  awaited  the  unwelcome  visitor 
with  an  air  of  defiant  indifference. 

"  Momin',  Bet !  "  saluted  her  suitor,  in  a  curt,  sulky  fashion,  to 
which  "  Bet  "  made  an  appropriate  response.  "  Thou  beest  stannin' 
in  the  door  as  if  thou  wast  lookin'  for  some'im  ?  I  doan't  suppose 
it  are  for  me,  anyhow." 

"  No,  indeed,"  answered  the  girl,  taking  but  slight  pains  to  conceal 
her  chagrin.  I  neither  expected  you^  nor  do  I  thank  you  for  coming. 
I  told  you  so,  when  you  were  here  last ;  and  now  I  tell  you  again." 

"  "Wall,  you  consated  thing ! "  retorted  the  lout,  with  a  pretense  at 
being  indifferent ;  "  how  do  thee  know  I  be  come  to  see  thee  ?  I  may 
liave  bizness  wi'  Mast'  Dancey,  mayen't  I?** 

**  If  you  have,  he's  not  at  home." 

**  Where  be  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Over  to  Stone  Dean.  He's  only  left  here  a  minute  ago.  He 
went  by  the  short  cut  across  the  woods.  If  you  keep  on,  you'll  easily 
overtake  him." 

" Bah !  "  ejaculated  the  woodman,  "I  beant  in  such  a  hurry.  My 
6izness  wi*  your  father  '11  keep  till  he  coom  back ;  but  I'se  also  o'ot 
somethin'  to  say  to  thyself  as  woan't  keep  much  longer.  Thee  be 
done  up  wonderful  fine  this  momin' !  Be  theer  another  fete  to  come 
off?    'Tain't  day  o'  a  fair,  be  it  ?  " 

"  My  doing  up,  as  you  call  it,  has  nothing  to  do  with  either  fU^ 
or  fair.  I'm  dressed  no  different  from  other  days,  I'm  sure.  I'vt 
only  put  on  my  new  skirt  and  boddice — ^because — because " 

Notwithstanding  her  readiness,  Mistress  Betsey  appeared  a  littU 
perplexed  to  find  an  excuse  for  her  being  habited  in  her  holidaj 
attire. 

"  Because,"  interrupted  the  woodman,  noticing  her  confusion 
** because  thee  wast  looking  out  for  some  'un.  That's  the  because 
Bet  Dancey ! "  continued  he,  his  increased  jealousy  stimulating 
him  ^  bolder  speech  t  '*  doan't  try  to  deceive  me.    I  arn't  such  t 


182 

blind  fool  as  you  think  I  be.  YouVe  put  on  your  finery  to  reoeivt 
Bome  'un  as  you  ha'  been  expectm*.  That  swaggerin'  soger,  I 
'spose?  Maybe  the  fine  gentleman  o'  Stone  Dean  hisself;  or 
I  wouldna'  wonder  if  't  mout  be  that  ere  Indyen  dummy  o'  his. 
Tou  beant  partickler,  Bet  Dancey;  not  you.  All's  fish  as  comes  to 
thy  net— all's  one." 

"  Will  Walford !"  cried  the  girl,  turning  red  under  his  taunts, 
**  I  shall  not  listen  to  such  talk,  either  from  you  or  any  one.  I) 
you've  nothing  else  to  say  to  me,  you  may  pass  on.'* 

"  But  I  heV  somethin'  else  to  say  to  thee ;  an'  I  mean  to  sayt 
now,  Bet." 

"Say  it,  then,  and  have  done  with  it,"  rejoined  the  girl,  as  ft 
desirous  of  hurrying  the  interview  to  an  end.    "  What  be  it  ?  '* 

"  It  be  this,  then,"  replied  the  woodman,  moving  a  little  nearer 
to  her,  and  speaking  in  a  more  serious  tone  than  he  had  assumed  *, 
"Bet  Dancey,  I  needn't  be  tellin' thee  how  I  be  in  love  wi' thee. 
Thou  know'st  it  well  enoo." 

"  You've  told  it  me  a  hundred  times.  I  don't  want  to  hear  h 
again." 

"  But  thou  shalt.    An'  this  time,  I  tell  thee,  will  be  the  last.** 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  that." 

**  What  I  be  goin'  to  say,*'  continued  the  suitor,  without  heeding 
her  repeated  interruptions,  "be  this,  Bet  Dancey.  I  see'd  thy 
father  lastnight;  an'  he  an'  me  talked  it  over  atween  us.  He's  gie*d 
me  his  full  consent.** 

"To  what,  pray?'* 

**  Why,  to  ha'e  thee  for  my  wife.** 

"Indeed! "  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  a  scornful  laugh.  " Ha!  hat 
ta!  That's  what  you  had  to  tell  me,  is  it?  Now,  Will  WaWard, 
hear  me  in  return.  You've  told  me  a  hundred  times  that  you  loved 
me,  and  you've  now  promised  that  it  will  be  the  last  time.  I've 
said  to  you  a  hundred  times  it  was  no  use ;  and  I  promise  you 
this  will  be  my  last  saying  it.  Once  for  all,  then,  I  declare  to  you, 
that  I  shall  never  be  your  wife — never !  never ! " 

The  last  words  were  pronounced  with  a  stern  emphasis,  calculated 
to  carry  conviction ;  and  the  rustic  suitor  shrank  under  them,  as  il 
4hey  had  annihilated  the  last  remnant  of  his  hopes. 

Only  for  an  instant  did  he  preserve  his  cowering  attitude.  Hii 
was  not  a  nature  to  be  stung  without  turning ;  and  the  recoil 
ioon  came. 


in 

"Then  dang  it!"  cried  he,  raising  his  long  »x,  and  winding  ii 
wund  his  head  in  a  threatening  manner,  "  if  thee  doan't  be  my  wife, 
Bet  Dancey,  thou  shalt  never  be  the  wife  o'  any  other.  I  swear  tc 
thee,  I'UJpll  the  first  man  thee  marriest;  an*  thyself  along  wi'  him 
if  I  ever  live  to  see  the  day  that  makes  two  o'  ye  one !  '* 

**  Away,  wretch !  '*  cried  the  girl,  half  terrified,  half  indignant. 
•*  I  don't  want  to  listen  to  your  threats.    Away,  away !  " 

And,  saying  this,  she  retreated  inside  the  hut — as  she  did  so, 
slamming  the  door  in  his  face. 

"Dang  thee,  thou  deceitful  slut !"  apostrophized  the  discarded 
suitor ;  "  an'  I'll  keep  my  threet,  if  I  ha'  to  swing  for  it ! " 

As  he  gave  utterance  to  this  fell  menace,  he  threw  the  ax  over  his 
shoulder ;  sprang  across  the  broken  palings ;  and  strode  off  among 
the  trees— once  more  muttering  as  he  went:  **  I'll  keep  my  threet, 
if  I  ha'  to  swing  for  it ! " 

For  some  minutes  the  door  of  the  cottage  remained  closed.  It 
was  also  barred  on  the  inside ;  for  the  girl  had  been  a  good  deal 
frightened,  and  feared  the  fellow's  return.  The  wild  look  that  had 
gleamed  from  under  his  white  eyebrows  would  have  caused  fear 
within  the  bosom  of  any  woman ;  and  it  had  even  terrified  the  heart 
of  Bet  Dancey. 

On  barring  the  door,  she  glided  up  to  one  of  the  windows  and 
watched.    She  saw  him  take  his  departure  from  the  place. 

"  He  is  gone,  and  I  am  glad  of  it  for  two  reasons,"  soliloquized  she. 
"  What  a  wicked  wretch !  I  always  thought  so.  And  yet  my 
father  wants  me  to  marry  that  man  !  Never — ^never !  I  shall  tell 
father  i^hat  he  has  said. 

**  Maybe  that  may  change  him. 

**  Heigho !  I  fear  he  is  not  coming  to-day !  and  when  shall  I  see 
him  again?  There's  to  be  another y^te  at  Michaelmas;  but  that's  a 
longtime;  and  it's  such  a  chance  meeting  him  on  the  road — wher? 
one  mayn't  speak  to  him,  perhaps.  Oh !  if  I  could  think  of  some 
errand  to  Stone  Dean!  I  wish  father  would  send  me  oftener. 
Ah  me !  what's  the  use  ?  Master  Holtspur's  too  grand  to  think  ol 
a  poor  peasant  girl.  Marry  me  he  could  not,  perhaps  he  would  not — 
I  don't  want  that,  if  he'd  only  love  me !  " 

The  lurcher,  who  had  kept  silent  during  the  stormy  interview 
between  Bet  and  her  rustic  admirer,  now  broke  out  in  %  fresh 
9i  baying. 


m 

•* Is  it  Wai  again?*' cried  the  girl,  gliding  back  io  the  windoU 
«nd  looking  out.  "  No  it  can't  be  him :  the  dog  looks  the  other 
way.    It's  either  father  coming  back,  or .     *Tis  he!  'tis  ho ! 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  I  must  open  the  door.  If  he  sees  it  shut 
he  may  not  think  of  coming  in ;  I  wish  him  to  come  in ! " 

As  she  said  this,  she  glided  up  to  the  doorway,  and  pushing  back 
the  bar,  gently  drew  up  the  door. 

She  did  not  show  herself  in  the  entrance.  A  quick  instinct  hfai* 
dered  her.  Were  she  to  do  so,  the  visitor  might  simply  make  ao 
inquiry;  and, being  answered  that  her  father  was  not  at  home, 
might  turn  back  or  pass  on.  This  would  not  suit  her  purpose : 
since  she  wished  him  to  come  in. 

He  was  afoot.  That  augured  well.  She  watched  him  through 
the  window  as  he  drew  near.  She  watched  him  with  a  throbbing 
bosom. 


CHAPTER  XXXn. 


fHB  DISPATOH  AT  LAST. 


Richard  Scarthe,  Captain  of  the  King's  Cuirassiers  and  confidant 
of  the  Queen,  was  seated  in  his  apartment  in  the  mansion  of  Sir 
Marmaduke  Wade. 

A  small  table  stood  within  the  reach  of  his  hand,  on  which  wai 
a  decanter  containing  wine  and  a  silver  goblet.  He  had  thrice  filled 
the  latter  and  thrice  drained  its  contents  to  the  last  drop.  But  the 
intoxicating  fluid,  even  thus  liberally  imbibed,  had  failed  to  give  solace 
to  the  chagrin  with  which  his  spirit  was  affected. 

It  was  now  the  third  day  of  his  residence  under  the  roof  of  Sir 
Marmaduke  Wade,  and  he  had  made  scarce  any  progress  in  the  pro- 
gramme he  had  sketched  out — of  ingratiating  himself  with  the  knighl 
and  hif  family. 


m 

On  thf  part  of  ttese  a  rigorous  etiquette  continued  to  be  kept  up  < 
•nd  it  appeared  probable  that  beyond  what  necessity  demanded  of 
them,  only  the  slightest  intercourse  might  ever  occur  between  theia 
and  their  uninvited  guests. 

Of  these  circumstances,  however,  the  soldier  made  not  much  ac- 
count. He  might  expect  in  time  to  smooth  over  the  unpleasant 
occurrences  that  had  inaugurated  his  introduction.  He  knew  himsell 
to  have  a  tongue  that  could  wheedle  with  the  devil;  and  with  this  ht 
hoped  at  no  distant  day  to  remove  the  hostile  impression,  and  estab- 
lish an  intimacy — ^if  not  altogether  friendly — that  would  at  least  give 
him  the  opportunity  he  desired.  Indeed,  he  even  flattered  himself 
that  he  had  already  made  some  progress  in  this  direction ;  and  it  was 
not  that  was  causing  the  extreme  acerbity  of  spirit  he  now  strove  to 
soothe  with  copious  libations  from  the  wine  cup. 

His  chagrin  sprang  from  a  different  cause.  What  at  first  was  only 
a  suspicion  had  now  become  almost  a  certainty, — ^that  he  was  fore- 
stalled in  the  affections  of  a  beautiful  woman  whom  he  already  loved 
with  an  indescribable  ardor — forestalled,  and  by  the  very  ma^  who, 
in  her  eyes,  had  so  horribly  humiliated  him. 

Notwithstanding  this  belief,  he  had  not  abandoned  hope.  Richard 
Scarthe  was  a  courtier  of  too  much  confidence  in  his  own  prowess  to 
yield  easily  to  despair.  He  had  succeeded  oft  before  in  the  estrange- 
ment of  hearts  already  prepossessed,  and  why  should  he  not 
again  ? 

As  the  wine  mounted  to  his  brain,  his  mind  began  to  contend 
against  the  conviction  with  which  his  late  act  of  espionage  had  so 
unhappily  supplied  him.  The  evidence  of  the  glove  was,  after  all, 
inconclusive.  The  one  he  had  picked  up  was  no  doubt  the  glove  of 
Marion  Wade ;  but  what  reason  was  there  for  believing  that  it  was 
its  fellow  he  had  seen  in  the  hat  of  Henry  Holtspur  ?  A  glove  of 
white  doe-skin  leather  was  a  fashion  of  the  time — so,  too,  the  gold 
and  lace  ornaments  upon  the  gauntlet.  The  daughter  of  Sir  Marma- 
duke  Wade  was  not  the  only  lady  who  wore  white  gloves.  Why 
should  it  be  hers  ? 

Every  reason  had  he  to  arrive  at  the  contrary  conclusion.  Hb  had 
ascertained  that  his  antagonist  was  a  stj-anger  to  the  family,  intro- 
duced to  Marion  scarce  an  hour  before  the  combat,  and  not  speaking 
to  her  afterwards. 

Thus  in  his  own  mind  would  Scarthe  have  disposed  of  th« 
drcumstance  of  the  two  gloves  r    deeming  it  an  accidental  a'Mn^ 


f8d 

But  then  there  was  the  interview  in  the  park — that  interview  ol 
iwhich  he  had  been  a  witness.  Could  t^  have  been  accidental?  Oy 
for  some  other  purpose  than  that  of  a  love  meeting? 

There  was  but  little  probability  in  these  conjectures.  For  all  that, 
the  jealous  Scarthe,  under  the  influence  of  the  wine,  earnestly  in- 
dulged in  them  until  he  began  to  feel  a  sort  of  hope  of  their  being 
true.  It  was  but  for  a  moment — short  and  evanescent — and  again 
did  his  mind  relapse  into  a  doubting  condition. 

Henry  Holtspur  had  by  this  time  become  the  bitB  noire  of  his  ex- 
istence, against  whom  his  bitterest  hostility  was  henceforth  to  b« 
directed.  He  had  already  taken  some  steps  to  inform  himself  of  the 
position  and  character  of  his  rival ;  but  in  this  he  had  met  with  only 
shght  success.  A  mystery  surrounded  the  movements  of  the  black 
horseman  ;  and  all  that  Scarthe  could  learn  in  relation  to  him  was 
that  he  was  a  gentleman  of  independent  means  who  had  lately  taken 
up  his  residence  in  the  neighborhood,  his  domicile  being  an  old  man- 
sion known  by  the  quaint  appellation  of  "  Stone  Dean." 

Scarthe  ascertained,  also,  that  Holtspur  was  a  stranger  to  most,  if 
not  all,  the  distinguished  families  of  the  neighborhood;  though  it 
was  believed  that  he  associatefl^with  others  at  a  greater  distance,  and 
that  he  had  hitherto  stood  aloof  from  those  near  him,  not  from  any 
want  of  the  opportunity  of  being  introduced,  but  rather  from  the 
absence,  on  his  part,  of  the  inclination. 

It  was  rumored  that  he  had  spent  a  portion  of  his  life  in  the  colo- 
nies of  America;  and  the  fact  that  he  was  occasionally  seen  accom- 
panied by  a  young  Indian  in  the  capacity  of  body  servant  gave 
confirmation  to  the  rumor. 

Scarthe  had  learnt  nothing  more  in  relation  to  his  conqueror, 
excepting  that  two  men  of  the  neighborhood  were  occasionally  em- 
ployed by  him  in  matters  of  service.  These  were  a  woodman  of  the 
name  of  Dencey,  and  another  of  the  hke  ilk — a  younger  man,  3aUed 
Walford. 

The  cuirassier  captain  had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  collect  this 
information  without  some  glimmering  of  a  design,  though  as  yet  he 
saw  not  very  clearly  in  what  way  he  could  benefit  by  the  knowledge. 
In  fact,  Captain  Scarthe  had  never  in  his  life  felt  more  powerless  te 
rid  himself  of  a  rival  who  had  so  rudely  crossed  his  path. 

To  challenge  his  late  antagonist  and  fight  him  again  was  not  to  be 
thought  of— after  such  a  termination  to  the  first  combat.  The  life  oi 
Scarthe  had  been  conceded  to  him;  and  the  laws  of  honor  would 


THE  DISPATCH  AT  LAST. 


18? 


hare  precluded  him  from  seeking  a  second  affair  -had  he  bean  si 
inclined.  But  the  touch  of  the  cavalier's  steel  had  taught  him  itfl 
sharp  quality,  and  he  had  not  the  slightest  inclination  to  tempt  it 
again.  Though  yearning  fiercely  for  vengeance,  he  had  no  thought  ol 
seeking  it  in  that  way,  and  in  what  fashion  he  was  to  find  it,  he  had 
as  yet  conceived  no  distinct  idea. 

The  Beance  with  his  own  thoughts  had  been  protracted  for 
more  than  an  hour,  and  the  cloud  that  still  sat  upon  his  brooding 
brow  betokened  that  it  had  been  unsuccessful.  The  wine,  quaffed 
spasmodically,  had  been  quafied  in  vain.  His  vengeance,  even  so 
-':*mulated,  had  failed  to  suggest  a  scheme  for  its  satisfaction. 

^ngth  an  idea  seemed  to  occur  to  him  that  called  for  the  pres- 
ftDOb  ''^e  second  personage.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  striding  to 
the  dooi^        s^d  rapidly  out  of  the  room. 

In  a  few  ^  ds  he  reentered,  followed  by  one  of  his  troopers — a 
?'oung  fellow  whose  countenance  might  have  appeared  pleasing 
enough  but  for  an  expression  of  softness,  almost  silliness,  that 
marked  it. 

"  Well,  Withers  ?  **  inquired  the  officer,  as  soon  as  the  two  had 
got  fairly  within  the  room,  "  you  have  seen  the  two  woodmen  ? " 

**  Only  one,  captain.  The  old  one,  Dancey,  hadn't  come  home  yet ; 
bat  bis  daughter  said  she  was  expectin'  him  the  night." 

"And  the  other?" 

*•  Wull  Walford  ?  Yes,  captain,  I  seen  him,  and  delivered  your 
message." 

"  Well ;  he's  coming  to  see  me,  is  he  not ?  ** 

•*  I'm  afeard  not,  captain." 

"Why  not?" 

"  He's  a  queery  sort,  is  Wull  Walford.  I  knew  him  *fore  I  left 
the  county  to  list  in  the  troops.  He's  a  iU-tempered  cur ;  that's 
what  he  is." 

"  But  why  should  he  show  temper  with  me  ?  He  don't  know  btit 
that  I  may  intend  kindness  to  him  ?  ** 

'<  After  what's  happened,  he's  afeard  to  see  you,  captain.  That's 
why  I  think  he  won't  come." 

**  After  what's  happened !  And  what  has  happened  ?  Ton  mys* 
tifyme,  my  man!" 

«*  I  mean,  captain,  the  little  affair  as  occurred  between  you  and  hia 
—in  the  old  camp  over  there." 

"Between  me  and  him?  Who  are  you  thinking  oft  Withers  I 
K9t  tbe  *  black  horseman*'  aa  the  rustics  call  this— -<<•" 


m 

**  No,  eaptaiii ;  Will  Walford,  I  mean." 

"  And  pray  what  ^'%s  occurred  between  Master  Wull  tfalford  «nd 
myself?    I  rememV,    .  *)  individual  of  the  name." 

"  You  remember  Kt  '^♦i?  Hood,  captain — ^he  as  had  the  'dadty  U 
strike  at  your  honor  with  liv'bow?  *' 

"0-o-h!  that's  the  difficiutY;  is  it.  So,  so,'*  continued  Scarthe, 
in  half  soliloquy*  "  WuU  Wai.^0*  ^  of  Wapsey's  Wood  and  the  bold 
outlaw  of  Sherwood  Forest  are  io^-n^^^l  individuals,  are  they  ?  No 
wonder  the  fellow  has  some  scrup^  -^  \o\it  seeing  me  again.  Ha ! 
ha !  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  kble  to  ovet^jome  them.  A  crown  or  two 
will  no  doubt  suffice  to  satisfy  Master  Walford  for  what  he  may  have 
considered  a  slight  to  his  sweetheart ;  and  as  to  the  blow  over  my 
own  crowi^  I  can  the  more  easily  pardon  that  since  I  beUeve  ha 
broke  the  stock  of  his  -jre^pon  im  dealiiag  it.  So,  Eobin  Hood  it  is. 
Well,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  he  and  I  may  be  fast  friends  yet.  At  all 
events,  from  what  I  observed  on  that  occasion,  he  is  not  likely  to  be 
on  the  friendliest  terms  with  my  enemy.    Withers ! " 

•*  Captain  ! "  said  the  trooper,  making  a  fresh  salute,  as  if  in  the 
expectation  of  receiving  some  order 

"  I  shall  want  you  to  guide  me  to  the  domicile  of  this  Walford.  I 
suppose  he  has  a  house  somewhere ;  or  does  he,  hke  his  prototype, 
roam  anywhere  and  everywhere,  and  sleep  under  the  shadow  of  the 
greenwood  tree  ?  " 

"He  lives  in  a  poor  sort  o' cottage,  captain — not  very  far  from 
that  of  Dick  Dancey." 

"  Then  we  may  v^sit  both  at  once,  and  as  the  older  woodman  is  ex- 
pected to  return  home  to-night  I  shall  not  go  until  to-morrow.  How 
far  is  it  to  this  Wapsey's  Wood  ?  *' 

"  Scant  two  miles,  captain.  It's  up  the  road  in  the  direction  of 
Beaconsfield.** 

"  Enough.  I  shall  go  on  horseback.  After  morning  parade,  see 
that  you  have  the  grey  horse  saddled,  and  your  own  as  well.  Now, 
be  oflP  to  your  quarters;  say  nothing  to  any  of  your  comrades  what 
duty  you  are  going  on,  nor  to  any  of  your  country  acquaintances 
neither,  else  you  may  get  yourself  into  trouble.     Go !  " 

The  trooper,  making  a  salute,  expressive  of  assent  to  the  caution 
thus  delivered,  betook  himself  from  the  presence  of  his  commanding 
officer. 

"  He's  but  a  silly  fellow,  this  Withers,"  muttered  the  latter,  as  the 
•tidier  had  gone  out  of  hearing.    "  {^ot  the  man  for  my  purpose 


189 

His  Mowledge  of  the  neighborhood — the  only  on©  of  my  vagabond* 
who  has  ever  been  in  it  before — makes  it  a  necessity  to  empltfy  him 
m  this  matter.    Perhaps  in  Wull  Walford,  I  may  find  a  more  intel 
ligent  aide-de-camp.    Nout  verrons  I " 

And  with  this  conjectural  reflection,  Scarthe  threw  himself  back 
in  his  chair ;  and  once  more  gave  way  to  the  gloomy  surmises  that 
had  already  tormented  his  unhappy  mind. 

Again  did  they  torment  him  as  before ;  and  it  was  a  j?elief  to  him 
rhen  the  door  once  more  turned  upon  its  hinges,  and  his  subaltern 
stepped  into  the  room. 

Not  that  Stubbs  had  any  cheering  news  to  communicate;  nor  wal 
there  just  then  anything  encouraging  in  his  countenance.  On  the 
contrary,  the  cornet  looked  but  httle  less  lugubrious  than  his  cap- 
tain ;  and  he  had  been  in  that  mood  ever  since  morning. 

Lora  Lovelace  would  scarce  condescend  to  exchange  a  word  with 
him;  and  when  by  chance  he  had  been  twice  or  thrice  in  her  com- 
pany, it  was  only  to  find  himself  the  subject  of  a  slight  or  a  satire, 
and  the  next  moment  to  receive  the  cold  shoulder.  All  this,  too,  so 
delicately  done,  that  Stubbs  could  find  no  opportunity  for  retaliation ; 
unless  by  allowing  a  Ucense  to  hi^  vulgar  spite,  which  Scarthe  had 
cautioned  him  against.  In  fact  the  cornet  felt  that  the  young  lady, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  had  made  a  butt  of  him — ^he  did,  by  Ged ! 

He  had  at  an  earlier  hour  communicated  to  his  captain  the  ill 
success  of  his  wooing :  but  the  latter  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his 
own  schemes,  to  ofier  him  either  advice  or  assistance. 

The  entrance  of  his  subaltern  turned  the  thoughts  of  Scarthe  into 
%  new  channel,  as  testified  by  his  speech. 

"  So,  then,  there's  no  one  arrived  from  London  yet?"  he  said, 
interrogatively,  as  he  saw  the  cornet  proceeding  to  seat  himself. 

A  simple  negative  was  the  reply. 

"  'Tis  very  odd  that  the  message — ^whatever  it  was — ^has  not  been 
ielivered  in  duplicate  before  this  time  ?  " 

"  Very  odd !— 'tis  by  Ged !  " 

"  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  fellow,  frightened  as  he  was  by  those 
precious  footpads,  has  taken  leave  of  his  senses  altogether ;  and, 
instead  of  carrying  back  my  letter,  has  climbed  us  to  a  tree,  and 
hanged  himself  thereon.'* 

"  Like  enough,  by  Ged !  ** 

"Had  I  only  shpped  in  a  postscript,  ^vmg  the  king  •  hint  about 
Hie  character  of  the  rascals  to  whom  his  courier  so  tamely  surren- 
|ore(^  perhaps  the  best  thing  he  ':;oUd  have  done  would  have  been  li 


190  THE  DISPATCH   AT  LAST. 

string  himself  up.  I  haren't  the  slightest  doubt  about  Its  bdoigthi 
band  of  scarecrows  that  stopped  the  son  of  Sir  Marmaduke.  01 
course,  it  must  have  been ;  since  it  was  on  the  same  night,  and  tha 
same  spot.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  In  all  of  my  campaigns  I  neyer  Ikeard 
of  a  more  clever  bit  of  strategy.    Ha !  ha !  ha ! " 

"Nor  I,'*  said  Stubbs,  joining  in  the  laugh. 

**  I'd  give  a  month's  pay  to  get  hold  of  the  comical  villain  that 
planned  it.  If  he  felt  inclined  to  join  our  cuirassiers,  I'd  make  a 
corporal  of  him  without  asking  a  question." 

"  He'd  make  a  first-rater.    He  would,  by  Ged !  ** 

"  I  should  like,  also,  to  get  hold  of  him  for  another  reason,"  con- 
tinued Scarthe,  changing  to  a  more  serious  tone.  "  We  might  re- 
cover the  lost  dispatches — which,  no  doubt,  are  still  in  the  doublet 
he  stripped  from  the  chicken-hearted  courier.  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  What 
a  pickle  we  found  him  in !  A  pigeon  completely  plucked  and  trus- 
sed. Oh !  how  the  queen  will  laugh  when  she  reads  my  report  to 
her.  I  hope  she  won't  tell  it  to  the  king.  If  she  do  blab,  it'll  be  no 
laughing  matter  for  the  poor  devil  of  a  messenger !  '* 

"Itwon't,  by  Ged!" 

<«  Particularly  if  the  dispatches  contained  anything  of  importance. 
I  wonder  what  they  were  about — sent  so  soon  after  us ;  hope  it 
wasn't  a  countermand." 

"By  Ged!  I  hope  not." 

**  I'm  not  tired  of  our  country  quarters  just  yet :  and  won't  be,  till 
I've  tried  them  a  little  longer.  Rather  icy  these  girls  are,  Stubbs  ? 
Don't  repine,  lad.    Perhaps  they'll  thaw,  by  and  by." 

"  I  ho|)e  so,"  said  Stubbs,  his  stolid  features  brightening  up  at 
the  idea.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  that  young  sop  of  a  cousin,  'twould  be 
all  right.    I  believe  it  would,  by  Ged  ?  " 

"Pooh!  pooh!  Don't  make  your  mind  uneasy  about  him  It 
appears  to  be  a  kind  of  kittenly  affection  that's  between  them.  He's 
just  come  home,  after  a  three  years'  absence  from  her  apron-string ; 
and  it's  natural  she  should  like  to  play  with  him  a  bit.  Only  as  a 
toy,  Stubbs.  She'll  soon  tire  of  him,  and  want  another.  Then 
will  be  your  turn,  my  killing  cornet." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  captain  ? " 

"  Think  so !     Sure  of  it.    Ha !  if  it  were  my  game,  I  shouldn*! 
want  an  easier  to  play.    Mine's  a  different  affair — very  different.    II 
will  require  all  the  skill  of--  of  Cnptain  Scarthe  to  win  in  that  qu«r 
ter-    Bu!    Who's  th^re?    Ccnic  ia  !  " 


THS  DISPATOH  AT  LAST* 

The  interrogatory  had  been  called  forth  by  a  knock  heard  outside» 
At  the  command  to  enter,  the  door  was  opened,  showing  a  cmraaalei 
standing  upon  the  stoop,  with  his  hand  raised  to  his  helmet. 

"  Your  business,  sergeant  ?  "  demanded  the  captain. 

**  A  messenger  has  arrived  escorted  by  three  files  of  dragoniem/* 

"Whence?" 

"From  London.** 

'*  Show  hifm  in ;  and  see  that  his  escort  are  taken  care  of  outside.** 

The  sergeant  disappeared  to  execute  the  order. 

"  This  should  be  the  bearer  of  the  duplicate  dispatch  ? "  said  Scar- 
the,  conjecturally ;  ''and  if  it  contains  a  countermand,  I  hope  it  hai 
been  also  lost." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  rejoined  the  comet ;  "  the  three  files  of  dragoniers 
ought  to  have  been  a  match  for  the  dozen  dummies !  **  and  as  Stubbs 
said  this,  he  smiled  conceitedly  at  the  pretty  speech  he  had  perpe- 
trated. 

The  courier  came  in — a  cavalier  by  his  costume  and  bearing;  but 
of  a  type  very  different  from  the  one  rifled  by  the  robber.  He  was  a 
grizzled  old  veteran,  armed  fi-om  the  toes  to  the  teeth ;  and  his  steel- 
grey  eye,  shining  sagely  through  the  bars  of  his  helmet,  betokened 
a  character  not  likely  to  have  been  duped  by  Gregory  Garth  and  his 
scare-crows.  Had  this  individual  been  bearer  of  the  original  dispatch 
instead  of  the  copy,  in  all  likelihood  the  repentant  footpad  would 
have  committed  no  other  crime  on  that  memorable  night ;  and  would 
have  been  saved  the  sin  of  breaking  the  promise  he  had  made  to  his 
master. 

"A  courier  from  the  king? "  said  Scarthe,  bowing  courteously  ai 
the  cavalier  came  forward. 

''A  dispatch  from  his  majesty,*'  returned  the  messenger,  with  an 
official  salute,  at  the  same  time  holding  out  the  document.  ''It  is 
the  copy  of  one  sent  three  days  ago,  and  lost  upon  the  road.  Gap-- 
tain  Scarthe,  I  believe,  is  idready  acquainted  with  the  circum- 
stance.** 

A  slight  twinkling  in  the  steel-grey  eye  of  the  speaker,  while  mak* 
ing  the  concluding  remark,  told  that  he  had  heard  of  the  adventure, 
and  was  not  insensible  to  its  ludicrous  nature. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  assented  Scarthe.    "  I  h3pe  the  bearer  of  the  original 
has  not  come  to  grief  through  his  misadventure." 
"  Dismissed  the  service,"  was  the  formal  rejoinder. 
•«MI  lamaornrfortlMit    The  iH|ht  1^  had  wm,  I ihoaU  tUiAf 


IW  THE  DISPATCH  AT  LAST. 


jmnishment  enough ;  to  say  nothing  of  the  loss  of  his  horM»  ptirBi, 
watch,  and  love  looket.    Ha !  ha !  ha !  " 

The  hearty  laugh  in  which  the  captain  indulged,  chorussed  by 
Stubbs,  sanctioned  only  by  a  grim  smile  on  the  part  of  grey-eyo,  told 
that  the  sympathy  of  the  latter  for  the  disgraced  courier  was  not 
¥«ry  farofound. 

"Cornet  Stubbs,"  said  Scarthe,  turning  to  his  subaltern,  and 
waving  his  hand  towards  the  messenger,  "  see  that  this  gentleman 
does  not  die  of  hunger,  and  thirst.  Excuse  me,  sir,  while  I  peruse 
the  King's  dispatch.    Perhaps  it  requires  to  answer." 

The  comet,  inviting  the  courier  to  follow  him,  passed  out  of  th« 
room ;  while  Scarthe,  stepping  into  the  emba3naient  of  the  window, 
broke  open  the  royal  seal,  and  read: 


•*  Hi9  Majestie  the  King  to  Captain  Scartfie,  commanding  y$  Ci*f« 
rassiers  in  the  County  of  Bucks. 

"  In  addition  to  ye  orders  already  given,  Captain  Scarthe  is  hereby 
commanded  to  raise  by  recruit  in  ye  county  of  Bucks  as  many  m£n  as 
may  be  disposed  to  take  service  in  his  Majestie* s  regiment  of  Cuiras- 
siers', and  he  is  by  these  sam^  presents  empowered  with  ye  King's  au- 
thority to  offer  to  each  and  every  recruit  a  bowity  as  prescribed  in  y$ 
accompagnying  schedule, 

"  Furthermore,  it  having  come  to  ye  ear  of  his  Majestie,  that  diver$ 
disloyal  citizens  of  said  shire  of  Bucks  have  of  late  shown  symptoms 
of  disaffection  to  his  Majestie's  Government,  in  the  holding  of  secret 
meetings,  and  divers  other  and  like  unlawful  acts,  and  by  speeches  crni- 
taining  rebellious  doctrines  against  his  Majestie*s  Government  and 
person,  as  likeunse  against  the  well-being  of  ye  State  and  ye  Church  ; 
therefore,  his  Majestie  do  command  his  loyal  and  trusted  servant,  ye 
Captain  Scarthe  aforesaid,  to  search,  discover^  and  take  cognizance  of 
all  such  dissentious  persons  ;  and  if  he  find  good  and  substantial  proof 
of  their  disloyalty,  then  is  he  hereby  enjoined  and  commanded  to  com^ 
wunicate  ye  same  to  ye  Secretary  of  his  Majestie' s  Council  of  State,  in 
order  that  such  rebellious  subjects  be  brought  to  trial  before  ye  Star 
Chamber,  or  ye  High  Commission  Court,  or  such  other  court  or  courts 
ft  tnay  conform  to  the  nature  of  their  offence  and  punishm£nt 
**  Given  at  our  f>glgc0  of  Whitehall. 


THE  DISPATCH    AT   LAST.  IM 

« Pish !  "  exclaimed  Scarthe>  as  he  concluded  reading  tbe  disp  vtcb 
"  That's  a  pretty  duty  to  put  me  on !     Making  a  spy  of  me !     Th« 
king  forgets  that  I  am  a  gentleman ' 

"  I  shall  obey  the  first  command  readily  enough.  My  troop  wanta 
recruiting;  and  I  suppose,  along  with  the  increased  numbers,  I  may 
get  that  colonelcy  I  ought  to  have  had  long  ago.  As  to  my  eaves* 
dropping  about  inns,  and  listening  for  every  silly  speech  that  Jack 
makes  to  Jame,  and  Jem  repeats  to  Collin — with  the  usual  embellish- 
meuts  of  the  rural  fancy — I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort ; — unless,"  added 
he,  with  a  significant  smile,  "  unless  the  queen  commands  me.  To 
gratify  her  sweet  grace,  I'll  turn  potboy,  and  wait  upon  the  gossips 
of  the  tap.  Ho!  what's  this? — ^more  writing ;  a  postscript!  Per- 
haps, as  in  the  letters  of  ladies,  the  most  important  part  of  the 
epistle  ? 

**  8inc$  the  above  dispatchy  his  M^estie  hath  been  further  informed 
that  one  of  his  Majestie^s  subjects — by  nam^  Holtspur — and  bearing 
*ihe  Christian  nam^e  of  Henry,  hath  more  than  any  other  been  of  great 
zeal  in  promoting  the  subversive  doctrines  aforementioned;  and  it  i» 
believed  that  the  said  Holtspur  is  an  active  instrument  and  co-adjutor 
among  the  enemies  of  his  Majestie*s  Government.  Therefore  Captain 
Scarthe  is  directed  and  enjoined  to  watch  the  goings  and  comings  of 
ye  said  Holtspur,  and  if  anything  do  appear  in  his  conduct  that  may 
be  deemed  sufficient  for  a  charge  before  ye  Star  Chamber,  then  is  Captain 
Scarthe  directed  to  proceed  against  and  arrest  the  said  individual. 
His  Majestie  in  ye  matter  in  question  will  trust  to  the  discretion  of 
Captain  Scarthe  to  do  nothing  on  slight  grounds — lest  the  arrest  ofn 
subject  of  his  Majestie,  who  might  afterwards  be  proven  innoant,  bring 
scandal  on  y$  name  and  government  of  his  Majestie. 

"  C.  E," 

"  Spy ! "exclaimed  Scarthe,  starting  to  his  feet  as  he  finished  read- 
ing the  postscript.  "Spy,  you  say?  I  thank  you  for  the  office. 
Fear  me  not,  kind  king.    I'll  play  the  part  to  perfection.^ 

"  Did  I  not  say  so  ? "  he  continued,  striding  to  and  fro  across  the 
floor,  and  waiving  the  paper  triumphantly  over  his  head.  "  The  wo- 
men are  wise :  they  keep  their  best  bit  for  the  last.  Henceforth  of  a 
letter  give  me  the  postscript. 

"  So,  Master  Henry  Holtspur,  I  thought  there  was  something  not 
sound  about  T0\|--9T#r  since  you  drank  Mitki  toast  to  t»tt]»t  me     Ab^  i 

9 


If  I  don't  have  you  on  the  hip<  -  as  Will  Shakespeare  lays— th«n  I*ai 
not  Dick  Scarthe,  captain  of  the  king's  cuirassiers. 

Stay,  I  must  go  gently  about  this  business — ^gently  and  cautious- 
ly. The  king  counsels  it  so.  No  fear  for  my  rashness.  I  know 
when  to  be  stormy,  and  when  to  be  tranquil.  Proofs  are  required. 
That  won't  be  difficult,  I  ween — where  a  red  rebel  stands  before  the 
bar. 

**  I'll  find  proofs.  Never  fear,  your  Majesty.  I'll  find,  or  fratM 
them — ^proofs  that  will  satisfy  that  scrupulous  tribimal,  the  Star 
Chamber!    Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

And,  as  he  gave  utterance  to  the  satirical  laugh,  he  passed  rapidly 
oat  of  the  room — as  if  starting  off  in  search  of  those  proofs  he  so 
oonfidently  expected  to  obtain. 


CHAPTER  XXXm 


WILL  WALFOBD. 


We  left  the  beautiful  Bet  Dancey,  with  her  eye  fixed  on  the  man 
she  admired,  waiting  his  entrance  into  her  father's  cottage,  and  with 
a  throbbing  bosom. 

Hers  were  not  the  only  eyes  that  were  watching  Henry  Holtspur — 
nor  the  only  bosom  throbbing  at  the  approach.  There  was  one  other 
beating  as  wildly  as  hers,  though  with  emotions  of  a  far  different 
kind.    It  was  that  of  her  discarded  suitor. 

On  parting  with  his  cruel  sweetheart.  Will  Walford  had  walked 
on  among  the  trees,  not  caring  what  direction  he  took.  The  horo- 
scope of  a  happy  life,  as  the  husband  of  Bet  Dancey — which  he  had 
long  been  contemplating — ^had  becottiC  dim  and  dark  by  the  very  de- 
cided dismissal  he  had  just  receiveo ;  and  the  young  woodman's  world, 
eurcumscribed  though  H  Slight  be«  wm  pow,  to  ius  Tiew^  %  wast« 


WILL   WiLlFORD.  IM 

For  A  tfane  he  could  find  no  other  occupation  for  either  thought 
or  speech,  than  to  repeat  the  revengeful  phrase  with  which  ne  had 
signalized  his  departure. 

Only  for  a  short  time,  however,  did  he  continue  in  this  reckless 
mood.  The  fact  of  his  sweetheart  being  done  up  in  her  holiday  dress, 
once  more  recurred  to  him — along  with  the  suspicion  that  she  must 
be  expecting  some  one. 

This  thought  checked  his  «teps — ^bringing  him  to  an  instantaneous 
halt. 

Despite  his  ungracious  dismissal — despite  the  hopelessness  of  his 
own  suit — he  determined  on  discovering  ^  ho  was  the  happy  rival ; 
who  it  was  for  whom  that  bodice  had  been  buttoned  on. 

That  there  was  such  an  individual  he  could  scarce  have  a  doubt. 
The  girl's  manner  towards  himself — her  air  of  anxiety  while  he  stay- 
ed in  her  presence — the  desire  she  had  expressed  for  him  to  follow, 
and  overtake  her  father — and  finally,  the  banging  of  the  door  in  his 
face — all  pointed  to  a  wish  on  her  part  to  get  rid  of  him  as  soon  as 
possible.  Even  the  dull  brain  of  the  brute  was  quick  enough  to  be 
convinced  of  this. 

If  he  had  any  doubting  hope  upon  the  s abject,  it  was  determined 
by  the  baying  of  the  lurcher,  which  at  this  moment  broke  upon  his 
ear.  The  dog  could  no  longer  be  barking  at  him  ?  Some  other  rival 
must  have  engaged  the  animal's  attention ;  and  who  could  that  other 
be,  but  the  man  for  whom  Bet's  black  tresses  had  been  so  coquet- 
tishly  coifed  ? 

The  jealous  rustic  faced  around  and  commenced  returning  towards 
the  hut,  as  if  the  bark  of  the  dog  had  been  a  command  for  him 
to  do  so. 

Very  difierent,  however,  was  the  attitude  exhibited  on  his  backward 
march.  Instead  of  the  reckless  devil-me-care  swagger  with  which  he 
had  taken  his  departure,  he  now  made  approach  with  the  instinctive 
caution  of  one  accustomed  to  the  woods ;  sheltering  himself  behind 
the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and  gliding  from  one  to  the  other — as  if  afraid 
of  being  shot  at  by  somebody  lying  in  wait  within  the  cottage. 

After  arriving  upon  the  edge  of  the  open  ground,  that  extended 
some  yards  outside  the  enclosure,  he  came  to  a  final  stop — crouching 
down  behind  a  bush  of  holly,  whose  thick  dark  foliage  appeared  suf- 
ficient to  screen  him  from  the  observation  of  any  one— either  in  th« 
cottage,  or  in  front  of  it. 

The  first  glance  which  he  gave,  after  getting  into  position,  discover 
•d  to  bin  tb«  individual  whose  arrival  had  set  the  dog  to  barkiof 


m 

Had  it  been  the  coarse  <mirassier — Bet*s  latest  cofiqieftt— or  eren  iba 
ofiBcer  who  at  the  fte  had  made  so  free  with  her  lips,  Will  Walford 
would  have  been  pained  by  the  presence  of  either.  But  far  more  dire 
were  his  thoughts,  on  perceiving  it  was  neither  one  nor  the  other  j 
but  a  rival  infinitely  more  to  be  dreaded — his  own  patron — the  pro- 
tector of  Maid  Marian. 

Had  it  been  any  other  who  was  making  approach.  Will  Walford 
might  have  sprung  from  his  hiding-place,  and  shown  himself  upon 
the  instant — ^perhaps  commanded  their  instantaneous  departure. 
But  after  witnessing  that  combat  in  the  Saxon  camp— combined  with 
other  knowledge  he  possessed  of  the  character  and  qualities  of  the 
"black,  horseman" — a  wholesome  fear  of  this  individual  counseled 
him  to  keep  his  place. 

The  dog  soon  ceased  his  angry  demonstrations ;  and  springing 
gleefully  upon  his  chain,  commenced  wagging  his  tail  in  friendly  re- 
cognition of  the  new  arrival.  It  was  evident  the  cavalier  was  not 
coming  to  the  cottage  of  Dick  Dancey  for  the  first  time. 

As  Walford  reasoned  thus,  the  cloud  upon  his  countenance  became 
darker — ^the  agony  in  his  heart  more  intense.  Still  more  agonizing 
were  his  emotions  when  he  saw  Henry  Holtspur  step  inside  the  hut, 
and  heard  his  voice  in  free  conversation  with  that  of  the  girl.  Tb^ 
tone  appeared  to  be  of  two  persons  who  had  talked  in  confidence— «- 
who  understood  one  another ! 

The  shadow  of  a  fell  intent  showed  itself  on  the  beetling  brow  o' 
Will  Walford.  Despite  his  dread  of  such  a  powerful  adversary, 
jealousy  was  fast  urging  him  to  a  dark  deed — to  do,  or  dare  it.  No 
doubt,  in  another  instant,  it  would  have  stimulated  him  to  the  wield- 
ing of  that  terrible  wood-ax,  but  for  an  unexpected  incident  that 
turned  him  from  his  intention. 

The  dog  again  gave  out  his  howling  note  of  alarm ;  but  soon  changed 
it  into  a  yelp  of  recognition,  on  perceiving  that  it  was  his  own  master 
who  was  coming  along  the  path. 

At  the  same  instant  Walford  recognized  the  old  woodman.  Instead 
of  showing  himself,  he  crept  closer  in  among  the  glabrous  leaves  of 
holly,  and  lay  crouching  there — more  like  a  man  who  feared  being 
detected,  than  one  bent  on  detection. 

It  was  not  till  the  cavalier  had  stepped  forth  from  the  cottage,  and 
apparently  entering  into  serious  conversation  with  its  owner,  walked 
off  with  him  into  the  woods,  that  Walford  stole  out  from  his  hidirg- 
place  under  the  hoU/. 


fhen,  shaking  liis  ax  in  the  direction  In  which  the j  had  gone— 
irith  a  gesture  that  seemed  to  signify  only  the  adjournment  of  hii 
fiendish  design — and  still  keeping  the  bush  between  his  own  body 
and  the  windows  of  the  hovel,  he  sneaked  sulkily  away. 

He  did  not  go  in  silence,  but  kept  muttering  as  he  went ;  at  inter- 
vals breaking  out  into  louder  enunciations — as  some  thought  especial- 
ly exasperating  struck  into  his  excited  brain. 

Again  he  repeated  the  menace  made  on  his  first  departure  from  the 
cottage. 

"Ees,  dang  me  !  1*11  keep  my  threet,  if  I  shud  ha'  to  hang  for't.** 

This  time,  however,  the  "threet"  applied  to  a  special  victim— 
Holtspur.  It  is  true  that  he  still  mentally  reserved^  condition ;  and 
that  was,  should  his  suspicions  prove  correct.  He  was  determined  to 
play  the  spy  upon  his  sweetheart  by  day  and  by  night ;  and  should 
he  discover  good  grounds  for  his  jealousy,  nothing  should  then  stay 
his  hand  from  the  fell  purpose  already  declared — to  kill. 

This  purpose — fully  resolved  upon  as  he  walked  through  the  wood 
— ^had  some  effect  in  tranquilizing  his  spirit ;  though  it  was  far  from 
giving  it  complete  contentment. 

His  steps  were  turned  homeward ;  and  soon  brought  him  to  a  hut 
standing  only  a  few  hundred  yards  from  that  of  Dick  Dancey — of 
even  humbler  aspect  than  the  domicile  of  the  deer-stealer.  It  looked 
more  like  a  stack  of  fagots  than  a  house.  It  had  only  one  door,  one 
window,  and  one  room ;  but  these  were  sufficient  for  his  owner,  who 
lived  altogether  alone. 

"  The  "  plenishing  *'  was  less  plentiful,  and  of  a  commoner  kind 
than  that  in  the  cottage  of  the  deer-stealer ;  and  the  low  truck-bed 
in  the  corner,  with  its  scanty  clothing,  looked  as  if  the  hand  of  woman 
had  never  spread  sheet,  or  coverlet,  upon  it. 

The  appearance  of  poverty  was  to  some  extent  deceptive.  However 
obtained,  it  was  known  that  Walford  possessed  money ;  and  his  chalk 
icore  in  the  tap-room  of  the  "Packhorse  "  was  always  wiped  out 
upon  demand.  No  more  did  his  dress  betray  any  pecuniary  strait. 
He  went  well  habited ;  and  could  even  afford  a  fancy  costume  when 
occasion  called  for  it — to  represent  Robin  Hood,  or  any  other  popular 
hero  of  the  peasant  fancy. 

It  was  this  repute  of  unknown,  and  therefore  indefinite,  wealth,  thai 
in  some  measure  sanctioned  his  claim  to  aspire  to  the  hand  of  the 
beautiful  Bet  Dancey,  the  aknowledged  belle  of  the  parish;  and 
though  his  supposed  possession  of  property  had  failed  to  win  over  th« 


heart  of  the  girl  herself,  it  had  a  deal  to  do  in  making  him  the  hfOf< 
ite  of  her  father. 

Already  slightly  suspicious  of  Bet's  partiality  for  the  black  horse* 
man,  what  he  witnessed  that  morning  rendered  him  seriously  so. 
It  is  true,  there  was  still  nothing  ascertained — nothing  definite.  Th« 
eavalier  might  have  had  some  object  in  visiting  Dancey's  cottage, 
other  than  an  interview  with  Bet;  and  Walford  was  only  too  willing 
to  think  so. 

But  the  circumstances  were  suspicious — suflBciently  so  to  make  sad 
havoc  with  his  happiness ;  and  had  Dancey  not  returned  at  the  time  he 
did,  there  is  no  knowing  what  might  have  been  the  dmouement  of  the 
interview  he  had  interrupted. 

On  entering  his  unpretentious  dwelling,  Walford  flung  his  ax 
into  a  comer,  and  himself  into  a  chair — ^both  acts  being  performed 
with  an  air  of  recklessness,  that  betokened  a  man  sadly  out  of  sorts 
with  the  world. 

His  thoughts,  still  muttered  aloud,  told  that  his  mind  dwelt  on  the 
two  individuals  whose  names  constantly  turned  up  in  is  soliloquy — 
Bet  Dancey  and  Henry  Holtspur.  Though  Bet  was  at  intervals  most 
bitterly  abused,  the  cavalier  come  in  for  the  angrier  share  of  his  de- 
nunciations. 

"  Dang  the  interloper ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  why  doan't  he  keep  to 
his  own  sort  ?  Ridin'  about  wi'  his  fine  horse  on'  his  fine  feathers 
an'  pokin'  hisself  into  poor  people's  cottages,  where  he  have  no  biz- 
ness  to  be  ?    Dang  him ! 

"What's  brought  him  into  this  neighborhood  anyhow?  I  shud 
like  to  know  that.  An'  what's  he  doin'  now  1  I  shud  like  to  know 
that.  Gatherin'  a  lot  o'  people  to  his  house  from  all  parts  o'  the  coun- 
try, an'  them  to  come  in  the  middle  o'  the  night !  I  shud  like  to 
know  that. 

"  Theer  be  somethin'  mithe  doan't  want  to  be  know'd :  else  why 
§hud  those  letters  I  carried — ay,  an'  opened  an'  read  'em  too— why 
shud  they  have  told  them  as  I  tuk  'em  to,  to  come  'ithout  bringin' 
theer  own  grooms,  an'  at  that  late  hour  o'  the  night  I  Twelve  o'clock 
the  letters  sayed — one  an'  all  o'  them ! 

"I  shud  like  to  know  what  it's  all  about.    That  s  what  I  shud. 

**Ay!  an'  maybe  I  know  some'un  else  as  wud  like  to  know. 
That  fellow  as  fought  wi'  him  at  the  feeat.  I  wish  he'd  run  him 
through  the  ribs,  instead  o'  gettin'  run  through  hisself.  Dang  it  f 
what  can  he  be  wantin'  wi'  me  ?    Can't  be  about  that  thwack  I  gin 


IN 

iim  ortT  the  skull  tap?  Ift  are  anything  consarnin*  that,  lit 
would'nt  a'  sent  after  me  as  he's  done  ?  No,  he'd  a  sent  a  couple  o' 
his  steel-kivered  sogers,  and  tuck  me  at  once.  Withers  sajed  ht 
meant  well  hy  me;  hut  that  Withers  an't  to  he  depended  on,  I 
never  knew  him  tell  the  truth  afore  he  went  sogerin' ;  an'  it  an't  like 
ho  be  any  hetter  now.  Maybe  this  captain  do  mean  well,  for  all 
that  ?    I'd  gie  somethin'  to  know  what  he  be  wantm'. 

**  Dang  it !  *'  he  again  broke  forth,  after  pondering  for  a  while ; 
**  it  mout  be  somethin'  about  this  very  fellow — this  black  horseman? 
I  shud  say  that  'ere  captain  'ill  be  thinkin'  o'  him,  more'n  about  any- 
body else.    If  he  be — ^ha !  " 

The  last  ejaculation  was  uttered  in  a  significant  tone,  and  pro- 
longed, as  if  continuing  some  train  of  thought  that  had  freshly  started 
into  his  brain. 

"  Ift  be  that— it  may  be  ?  Dang  me !  I'll  know !  I'll  go  an'  see 
Master  Captain  Scarthe — ^that's  what  they  call  him,  I  b'lieve.  I'U 
go  this  very  minnit." 

In  obedience  t'*  the  resolve  thus  suddenly  entered  upon,  the  wood- 
man rose  to  his  feet ;  seized  hold  of  his  hat ;  and  made  towards  the 
door. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  looked  outward  upon  some  sight,  that  seem- 
ed to  cause  him  some  surprise  and  gratification. 

"I've  heerd  say,"  he  muttered,  '^that  when  the  devil  be  wanted  he 
beeant  far  ofT.  Dang  it ;  the  very  man  I  war  goin'  to  see  be  comin' 
to  see  me !  Ees — that  be  the  captain  o'  the  kewressers,  an'  that's 
Withers  as  be  a  ridin'  ahint  him !  " 

Walford's  announcement  was  but  the  simple  truth.  It  was  Cap- 
tain Scarthe  and  his  confidant  Withers,  who  were  approaching  the 
hovel. 

They  were  on  horseback ;  but  did  not  ride  quite  up  to  the  houseo 
When  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  door  the  officer  dismounted ; 
and  having  given  his  bridle  to  the  trooper,  advanced  on  foot  and 
alone. 

There  was  no  enclosure  around  the  domicile  of  Will  Walford — not 
even  a  ditch ;  and  his  visitor,  without  stopping,  walked  straight  up 
the  door,  where  the  woodman  was  standing  on  the  stoop  to  receive 
him. 

With  the  quick  eye  of  an  old  campaigner,  Scarthe  saw  that  on  the 
ugly  face  of  his  late  adversary  there  was  no  anger.  Whatever  feel- 
isf  of  hostility  the  latter  might  have  entertained  at  the  fei%,  lor  tome 


300  WILL   WALF0E£>. 

reason  or  other,  appeared  to  have  yanished ;  and  the  captain  was  M 
much  surprised  as  gratified  at  beholding  something  like  a  smile,  when 
he  expected  to  have  been  favored  with  a  frown. 

Almost  intuitively  did  Scarthe  construe  this  circumstance.  Thi 
man  before  him  had  an  enemy  that  he  knew  to  be  his  also— on6  that 
he  hated  more  than  Scarthe  himself. 

To  make  certain  of  the  justness  of  this  conjecture  was  the  firgt 
BK>ve  on  the  part  of  the  cuirassier  captain. 

"  Good  morrow  my  friend  I "  began  he,  approaching  the  woodman 
with  the  most  affable  air.  "  I  hope  the  little  incident  that  came  so  crook* 
edly  between  us,  and  which  I  most  profoundly  regret,  I  hope  it  has 
been  equally  forgotten  and  forgiven  by  you.  As  I  am  an  admirer  of 
bravery,  even  in  an  adversary,  I  shall  feel  highly  complimented  if  you 
will  join  me  in  a  stoup  of  wine.  You  see  I  always  go  prepared — lest  I 
should  lose  my  way  in  these  vast  forests  of  yours,  and  perhaps 
perish  of  thirst." 

As  he  approached  the  conclusion  of  this  somewhat  jocular  perora- 
tion, he  held  up  a  flask,  suspended  by-a.strap  over  his  shoulders,  and 
unconcernedly  commenced  extracting  the  stopper. 

His  ci-devant  adversary,  who  seemed  both  surprised  and  pleased 
at  this  brusque  style  of  soldering  a  quarrel,  eagerly  accepted  the  prof- 
fered challenge ;  and  after  expressing  consent  in  his  rough  way, 
invited  the  cavalier  to  step  inside  his  humble  dwelling,  and  be  accom- 
modated with  a  seat. 

Scarthe  gave  ready  assent ;  and  in  an  other  second  had  planted  him- 
■elf  on  one  of  the  two  dilapidated  chairs  which  the  hovel  contained. 

The  wine  was  soon  decanted  into  a  pair  of  tin  cups,  instead  of  silver 
goblets;  and  in  less  that  ten  minutes'  time  Captain  Scarthe  and  Will 
Walford  were  upon  as  friendly  terms  as  if  the  former  had  never 
touched  the  lips  of  Maid  Marian,  nor  the  latter  broken  a  cross-bow 
•ver  his  head. 

"  The  fact  is,  my  bold  Robin  !**  said  Scarthe,  by  way  of  a  salvo,  "  I 
and  my  companion,  the  comet,  had  taken  a  little  too  much  of  this 
Bort  of  stuff  on  that  particular  morning  and  you  know  when  a 
man *' 

"  Dang  it,  yes ! "  rejoined  the  rustic,  warming  to  &is  splendid  com- 
panion, who  might  likely  become  a  powerful  patron,  "  when  one  has 
got  a  drap  too  much  beer  i*  the  head,  he  arn't  answerable  for  everj» 
bit  o'  mischief  in  the  way.  I  know  't  was  only  in  sport  that  ye 
kissed  the  lass.  Dang  it !  I*d  ha'  done  the  same  myself.  Aj,  thai 
I  WOttld."  ^^ 


WILL  WALFORD.  201 

•■  Ah !  and  »  pfetty  lass  she  is,  this  Maid  Marian  Your  sweetneart, 
I  take  it,  Master  Walford  ? " 

"Oh!  e-es — Betsey  be  somethin'  o'  that  sort,"  replied  the  wood- 
man, rather  yain  in  the  avowal. 

"  A  fortunate  fellow  you  are !  I  dare  say  you  will  soon  be  married 
to  her?" 

Walford's  reply  to  this  interrogatory  was  ambiguous  and  indis- 
dnct. 

"  As  one,"  continued  the  captain,  "  who  has  a  good  deal  of  experi- 
ence in  marrying  matters — for  I've  had  a  wife  or  two  myself — I*d 
advise  you — ^that  is,  after  the  fair  Betsey  becomes  Mistress  Walford 
— ^not  to  permit  any  more  presents  of  flowers  f  " 

"Dang  it !  "  ejaculated  the  jealous  lover,  "what  do  you  mean  by 
that,  master  ?  " 

"  Why,  only  that  I  was  witness  to  that  Httle  affair  in  the  old 
camp ;  and  to  say  the  truth,  was  not  a  little  surprised.  If  any  one 
deserved  those  flowers  from  Maid  Marian,  it  was  surely  the  man  who 
first  took  up  her  quarrel.  That  was  yourself.  Master  Walford  :  as 
my  skull-case — which  still  aches  at  the  remembrance — can  truly 
testify." 

"  Dang  me,  if  I  didn't !  The  black  horseman  had  no  business  to 
interfere,  had  he?'* 

"  Not  a  bit !  You  and  I  could  have  settled  our  little  difference 
between  ourselves ;  and  I  was  just  upon  the  eve  of  asking  your  for- 
giveness— for  I  felt  I  had  been  foolish — when  this  fellow  stepped  in. 
He  interfered,  for  no  other  reason,  than  to  figure  well  in  the  eyes  of 
the  girl.  I  could  see  plain  enough  it  was  that ;  though  I  knew  noth- 
ing of  either  party  at  the  time.  But  I've  learnt  something  since, 
that  puts  the  matter  beyond  dispute." 

•*  Leamt  somethin'  since — ^you  have  ? "  gasped  Walford,  springing  up 
from  his  chair,  and  earnestly  stooping  towards  the  speaker.  "  If  thee 
know'st  anything  anent  Maid  Marian — Bet  Dancoy,  I  mean,  an'  him 
— tell  it  me,  an' " 

"Keep  cool,  Walford.  Resume  your  seat,  pray.  I'll  tell  you  all  I 
know ;  but  before  I  can  make  sure  that  I  have  been  correctly  inform- 
ed, it  is  necessary  for  me  to  know  more  of  this  person,  whom  you 
style  the  Black  Horseman.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  something, 
that  will  enable  me  to  identify  him  with  the  individual  whose  namt 
I  have  heard,  in  connection  with  that  of  Maid  Marian,  or  Bet  Dance/ 
^-^m  you  say  the  beauty  is  called." 

9* 


IM  WILL  WALFOED. 

"  What  do  you  want  jo  know  o*  him  f  "  asKed  Walford,  erideiitly 
ready  to  unpart  all  the  intelligence  regarding  Holtspur  of  which  hit 
was  himself  possessed. 

"  Everything,"  replied  Scarthe,  perceiving  that  he  need  not  take 
trouble  to  keep  up  even  a  show  of  reserve.  "  As  for  myself,  I  know 
only  his  name.    After  all  it  may  not  have  been  him— who— " 

**  Who  what  ? "  quickly  inquired  the  impatient  listener. 

"I  tell  you  presently.  Master  Walford;  if  you'll  only  have  a  little 
|»tience.    Where  does  this  black  horseman  hold  out  !*' 

"Holdout?" 

"  Ay,  Where's  his  hostelry?" 

"I've  seen  him  oftener  than  anywhere  else  at  the  Saracen's  Head, 
dovTi  the  road  nigh  on  to  Uxbridge." 

"  Zooks  ?  my  brave  Robin,  that  isn't  what  I  mean.  Where  does 
heUve?" 

"  Where's  his  own  home  ?  ** 

"Ah!  his  home." 

"  Tain't  very  far  off  from  here,  just  a  mile  t'other  side  o'  Wapsey's 
Wood,  in  a  big  hollow  i'  the  hills.  Stone  Dean  the  place  be  called. 
It  be  a  queery  sort  o'  a  old  dwellin',  and  a  good  lot  out  o'  repairs,  I 
reckon." 

"  Does  he  see  any  company  ?  " 

"  Wall,  if  you  mean  company,  sich  as  fine  ladies  an'  the  like,  I 
doan't  think  he  ever  do  hev  that  sort  about  him.  And  not  much  of 
any  sort,  whiles  the  sim  be  a  shinin'.    After  night " 

"Ah!  his  friends  generally  visit  him  by  night,"  interrupted 
Scarthe,  with  a  glance  that  betokened  satisfaction.  "  Is  that  your 
meaning.  Master  Walford  ?  " 

"  No,  not  gen'rally,  ye  mout  say  altogether.  I  have  been  to  Stone 
Dean  more'n  twenty  times,  since  he  coomed  to  live  at  the  old  house, 
at  all  hours  I've  been,  an'  I  never  seed  a  soul  there  i'  the  day-time, 
'cepting  myself  and  Dick  Dancey.  There  be  a'  odd  sort  o'  a  sarvint 
be  brought  with  him,  a  Indyen  they  calls  him." 

" But  Master  Holtspur  has  visitors  in  the  night-time,  you  think?" 

"  Ay !  that  he  have— lots  o'  'em." 

"Who  are  they?" 

"  DoanH  know  neer  a  one  o'  'em.  They  be  all  strangers  to  tliese 
parts — least-  wise  they  appear  so — as  they  come  ridin',  kivered  wi* 
mud  an'  dust,  like  after  makin'  a  goodish  bit  o'  a  journey.  There'll 
be  a  big  gatherin'  o'  'em  theer  nex'  Sunday  nigbt--<considerin'  th« 


WILL  WALFOBD.  *>l 

that's  gone.  I  took  six  myself,  an'  Dic^  Dancey  as  many 
more — to  say  nothing  o'  a  bunch  carried  to  the  west  end  o'  the  coun- 
try by  a  fellow  I  doan't  know  nothin'  about.  It  be  a  meeting  o'  somi 
sort,  1  take  it." 

"  On  next  Sunday  night,  you  say  ? " 

The  question  was  evidently  asked  with  a  keen  interest ;  for  the  re- 
velations which  Will  Walford  was  making,  had  all  at  once  changed 
the  jocular  air  of  his  interrogator  into  one  of  undisguised  eagerness 

"Next  Sunday  night!" 

«« At  what  hour?" 

"  Twelve  o' the  clock." 

**  You  are  sure  about  the  hour  ?  ** 

"  I  ought  to  be ;  since  I  ha'  got  to  be  theer  myself,  along  wi'  Dick 
Dancey,  to  look  to  the  gentlemen's  horses.  A  big  crowd  o'  'em  ther'll 
be  for  the  two  o'  us  to  manage ;  as  the  gentlemen  be  comin'  'ithout 
theer  grooms.  But  what  was  it,  Master  ?  "  inquired  the  woodman, 
returning  to  the  torturing  thought  that  was  still  uppermost ;  "  you 
Bayed  you  knowed  somethin'  as  happened  atween  Bet  Dancey  an* 
him  1  If  he's  been  an'  done  it,  then,  dang  me — ^I'li  keep  my  threet, 
if  I  shud  ha'  to  swmg  for  it ! " 

"Done  what?" 

"  Made  a  fool  o'  Bet — that's  what  I  meean.  What  is*t  ye  know. 
Mister  Captain  ?    Please  to  tell  me  that ! " 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  the  tempter,  speaking  slowly  and  deliber- 
ately— as  if  to  find  time  for  the  concoction  of  some  plausible  tale. 
'*For  myself,  I  can't  say  I  know  anything — that  is,  for  certam — I 
have  only  heard — altogether  by  accident,  too — that  your  Maid  Mar- 
ian was  seen— out  in  the  woods  with  a  gentleman — and  at  a  very 
unreasonable  hour  of  the  night." 

**  What  night  ?  "  gasped  the  woodman. 

"  Let  me  see !  Was  it  the  night  of  the  fete  1  No,  It  was  the 
next  after — ^if  I  remember  aright." 

"  Damn  her !  The  very  night  I  war  gone  over  to  Rickmans'orth 
wi*  them  letten.    Augh ! " 

"  I  shouldn't  have  known  it  was  this  fellow,  Holtspur :  as  the  per- 
son who  gave  me  the  information  didn't  say  it  was  him.  ,  It  was  only 
told  me  that  the  man,  whoever  he  might  be,  was  dressed  in  fine  vel- 
vet doublet,  with  a  beaver  and  black  plumes ;  but  from  what  I'v« 
Been  myself,  and  from  what  you've  just  now  told  me,  I  think  it  very 
Vktij  that  tbe  black  horseman  was  the  mdividu^.    It  was  in  thii 


904 

woods,  near  Stone  Dean,  where  they  wert  seen.    Yea  say  he  livsi 

there.    It  looks  suspicious,  don't  it  ? " 

"  'Twar  him !  I  know  it,  I  be  sure  o  t.  Augh!  If  I  dont  h^ 
revenge  on  him,  and  her,  too !  Dang  the  deceitful  slut  I  I  will  I  1 
will!" 

"  Perhaps  the  girl's  not  so  much  to  blame.  He's  a  rich  fellow,  this 
Holtspur,  and  may  have  tempted  her  with  his  money.  Gold  goes  a 
great  way  in  such  matters." 

"  Oh !  if 't  were  only  money,  I  could  abear  it  better.  No !  It  ain't 
that,  master,  it  ain't  that !  I'm  a'most  sure  it  ain't.  She's  done  it, 
damn  her!" 

"  Perhaps  we  may  be  mistaken.    Things  may  not  have  gone  so  far 
as  you  think.    At  aU  events,  I  should  advise  you  to  let  the  girl  alone 
and  confine  your  revenge  to  the  villain  who  has  wronged  her." 

"  Him  first— him  first !  And  then,  if  I  find  she's  let  herself  be 
made  a  fool  o* " 

"  Whether  or  not,  he  deserves  no  thanks  from  you  for  having  made 
the  attempt." 

"  I'll  thank  him ! — ^I  will,  whenever  I  gets  the  chance.  Wait  tiU 
I  gets  the  chance." 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  may  have  that — without  waiting  long." 

Misinterpreting  these  words,  the  woodman  glanced  towards  his  ax 
with  a  significant  and  savage  leer,  that  did  not  escape  the  keen  eye 
of  Scarthe. 

"  True,"  said  the  latter,  in  a  tone  of  disapproval,  "  you  might  have 
that  chance  almost  at  any  hour.  But  there  would  also  be  a  chance 
of  failure,  with  a  considerable  risk  of  your  getting  run  through  the 
ribs.  If  what  you've  told  me  be  as  I  suspect,  there  will  be  no  need 
to  resort  to  such  extreme  measures.  Perhaps  I  may  be  able  to  point 
out  a  surer  and  safer  method  for  you  to  rid  yourself  of  this  rival." 

"  Oh,  Mister  Captain !  If  you  would  only  do  that — only  tell  ia« 
&«r— I'll^I'll " 

"  Have  patience !  Very  likely  I  may  be  able  to  assist  you,"  inter- 
rupted Scarthe,  rising  to  take  his  departure.  I've  something  in  my 
mind  will  just  suit,  I  think.  But  it  requires  a  little  reflection— and 
— some  preliminary  steps  that  must  be  taken  elsewhere.  I  shall  re- 
turn here  to-night,  after  sunset.  Meanwhile,  stay  at  home;  or  if  yo« 
go  abroad,  keep  your  tongue  behind  your  teeth..  Not  a  word  to  any 
one  of  what  has  passed  between  us.  Take  another  pull  at  the  flasW 
10  li^eep  \i^  your  spiritSr    Now,  Walf<3rd,  goo4  day  to  joh,'^ 


A  SUSPIOIOUS  DEPABTUBB.  !W4 

Having  pronounced  these  parting  words,  the  officer  walked  out  «f 
the  hut ;  and  returning  to  his  horse,  leaped  lightly  into  the  saddle, 
and  rode  ofi— followed  by  his  attendant  Withers. 

He  did  not  communicate  to  the  latter  aught  of  what  transpired  be- 
tween liim  and  the  woodman.  The  muttered  words  that  escaped  him, 
as  he  trotted  off  among  the  trees,  were  spoken  in  a  slow,  measured 
soliloquy. 

"  No  doubt  one  of  the  very  meetings  of  which  his  majesty  haa 
spoken  so  opportunely  in  his  dispatch  ?  Richard  Scarthe  shall  maka 
one  at  this  mtd-night  assembly — uninvited  though  he  be.  Ah,  if  I 
can  only  find  a  fair  opportunity  to  play  eavesdropper,  I  promise  Maa- 
ter  Holtspur  a  more  substantial  dwelling  than  he  now  inhabits !  Ho, 
have  no  fear,  kind  King  Carolus.  Right  willingly  shall  I  play  the 
spy!    Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

Elated  by  the  high  hope  with  which  his  new-gained  knowledge  had 
Inspired  him,  he  gave  the  spur  to  his  grey,  while  Wapsey's  Wood 
gave  back  the  echoes  of  his  joyous  laughter 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


▲  8USFI0I0US  DlPABTUma. 


It  was  Michaelmas  night  over  merry  England ;  but  at  that  lat« 
iiour  when  the  rustic — weary  with  the  revels  incidental  to  the  day — 
had  retired  to  rest  and  dream.    In  other  words,  it  was  midnight. 

Though  at  a  season  of  the  year  when  a  clear  sky  might  be  ex- 
pected, the  night  in  question  chanced  to  be  an  exception.  The  canopy 
of  bright  blue  usually  smiling  over  the  Chiltern  Hills  was  obscured 
by  black  cumulous  clouds,  that  hung  in  motionless  masses,  com- 
pletely shrouding  the  firmament.  Not  a  ray  of  light,  from  either 
moon  or  stars,  was  shed  upon  the  earth ;  and  the  narrow  bridle-patk 
as  well  as  the  wider  highway  could  with  difficulty  b<?  discerned  unda? 
lU  h9of  gf  ih9  traveler's  horse. 


ao6 


A  StISPIOIOUS  DEPABTUBB. 


NotwithsUnding  the  almost  complete  opacity  of  the  darkness,  il 
WSL8  not  continuous.  Gleams  of  lightning  at  intervals  flashed  ovel 
the  sward,  or  in  fitful  coruscation  illumined  the  deep  arcades  of  thf 
forest — ^the  beeches  for  a  moment  appearing  burnished  by  the  blaze. 
Though  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  among  the  trees,  nor  a  drop  of 
rain  had  as  yet  fallen  upon  their  leaves,  those  three  sure  foretellers 
of  the  storm — clouds,  lightning  and  thunder — ^betokened  its  prox- 
imity. It  was  such  a  night  as  a  traveler  would  have  sought  shelter 
at  the  nearest  inn,  and  stayed  under  its  roof  unless  urged  upon  an 
errand  of  more  than  ordinary  importance.  Despite  the  darkness  of 
the  paths  and  the  lateness  of  the  hour— despite  the  tempest  surely 
threatening  in  the  sky — some  such  errand  had  tempted  forth  at  least 
two  travelers  on  that  very  night. 

As  Marion  Wade  and  Lora  Lovelace  sat  conversing  in  their 
chamber  on  the  eve  of  retiring  to  rest,  two  horsemen  heavily  cloaked 
might  have  been  seen  passing  out  from  under  the  windows  and  headr 
ing  towards  the  high  road,  as  if  bent  upon  a  journey. 

It  was  Marion's  sleeping  apartment  that  was  occupied  by  the 
bra<5e  of  beautiful  maidens — ^whose  intention  it  was  to  share  the  same 
couch. 

It  had  not  been  their  habit  to  do  so,  for  each  had  her  separata 
chamber.  But  an  event  had  occurred  making  it  desirable  that  on 
that  particular  night  they  should  depart  from  their  usual  custom. 
Lora  required  the  confidence  of  her  cousin,  older  than  herself,  and 
her  counsel  as  well,  in  a  matter  so  serious  as  to  demand  the  privacy 
of  a  sleeping  apartment. 

Indeed,  two  events  had  happened  to  her  on  the  day  preceding, 
both  of  which  called  for  the  interposition  of  a  friend.  They  were 
matters  too  weighty  to  be  borne  by  a  single  bosom. 

They  were  somewhat  similar  in  character,  if  not  altogether  so ; 
both  being  avowals  of  love,  ending  in  offers  of  marria^. 

There  was,  however,  a  considerable  dissimilarity  in  the  individuals 
from  whom  the  tender  declarations  had  proceeded.  One  was  her 
own  cousin — ^Walter  Wade — the  other,  it  is  scarce  necessary  to  say, 
feeing  Cornet  Stubbs. 

Lora  had  not  hesitated  as  to  the  reply  sue  should  make  to  either 
It  was  not  for  this  she  was  seeking  the  counsel  of  her  cousin.  Th« 
answers  had  been  given  frankly  and  freely  on  the  same  insUnt  a? 
the  asking.  To  Walter  an  afl&rmative;  to  Stubbi  |  ue^tive.  if  not 
mdigiumt^  ft  least  final  mi  ^mphatio 


A  BUBPIOIOUS  DEPARTUBK  SOI 

Thai  point  had  been  settled  before  the  sun  went  down ;  and  Ma- 
rion's advice  was  only  sought  in  order  that  the  little  Lora — ^her  junior 
hi  years  as  well  as  womanly  experience — ^might  become  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  details  relating  to  that  most  important  ceremony 
of  a  woman's  life— the  nuptial, 

Alas  for  Lora ,  her  cousin  proved  but  a  poor  counselor.  Instead 
of  being  aUe  to  give  advice,  Marion  needed  rather  to  receive  it ;  and 
It  was  from  a  vague  hope  that  Lora  might  suggest  some  scheme  to 
alleviate  her  own  unpleasant  reflections  that  she  had  so  gladly  listen- 
ed to  the  proposal  of  their  passing  the  night  together. 

What  had  occurred  to  disquiet  the  thoughts  of  Marion  Wade  ? 

Nothing — at  least  nothing  but  what  is  known  already,  and  from 
that  some  may  think  she  should  have  been  very  happy.  She  had  met 
the  man  she  loved — had  received  from  his  own  lips  the  assurance 
that  her  love  was  reciprocated — had  heard  it  in  passionate  speech, 
sealed  and  confirmed  by  a  fervent  kiss  and  a  close  and  rapturouB 
embrace. 

What  more  wanted  she  to  confirm  her  in  the  supremest  happinaM 
that  can  be  enjoyed  outside  the  limits  of  Elysium  ? 

And  yet  Marion  Wade  was  far  from  being  happy ! 

What  was  the  cause  of  her  disquietude? 

Had  aught  arisen  to  make  her  jealous  ?  Did  she  doubt  the  fidelity 
of  her  lover  ? 

A  simple  negative  will  serve  as  the  answer  to  both  questions. 

IShe  felt  neither  jealousy  nor  doubt.  The  mind  of  Marion  Wade 
was  not  easily  swayed  by  such  influences.  Partly  from  a  sense  of 
self-rectitude ;  partly  from  a  knowledge  of  her  own  beauty,  for  she 
Bould  not  help  knowing  that  she  was  beautiful :  and  partly,  perhaps, 
fi*om  an  instinctive  consciousness  of  the  power  consequent  on  such  a 
possession ;  hers  was  not  a  love  to  succumb  readily  to  suspicion. 
Previous  to  that  interview  with  her  lover,  the  first  and  last  properly 
deserving  the  name,  she  had  yielded  a  little  to  this  unpleasant  emo- 
tion. But  that  was  while  she  was  still  uncertain  of  Holtspur's  love, 
before  she  had  heard  it  declared  by  himself,  before  she  had  listened 
to  his  vows,  pHghted  in  words,  in  all  the  earnestness  of  eternal 
truth. 

Since  that  hour  no  doubt  had  occurred  to  her  mind.  Suspicion 
she  would  have  scorned  as  a  guilty  thing.  She  had  given  her  own 
Heart  away— her  heart  and  soul — ^wholly  and  without  reserve,  and 
she  had  no  other  belief  than  l^t  she  had  received  the  heart  of  Hmrj 
doltspur  in  return. 


A  SUSPICIOUS   rEPARTUBlS. 

Her  iinhappiness  sprang  from  a  different  oause^  or  rather  caiaeSi 
for  she  had  three  sources  of  disquietude. 

The  first  was  a  consciousness  of  having  acted  wrongly — of  having 
failed  in  filial  duty;  and  to  a  parent  whcse  generous  indulgence 
caused  the  dereliction  to  he  all  the  more  keenly  felt. 

The  second  was  a  sense  of  having  transgressed  the  laws  of  social 
life — the  unwritten  but  well  understood  statutes  of  the  high-clasa 
society  in  which  the  Wades  had  lived  and  moved  since  the  Conquest 
— and  in  all  hkeUhood  long  before  that  hackneyed  era  of  historic 
celebrity. 

To  have  challenged  the  acquaintance  of  a  stranger, — perhaps  an 
adventurer, — perhaps  a  vagabond;  ah!  more  than  challenged  his 
acquaintance, — ^provoked  the  most  powerful  passion  of  his  soul; 
thrown  down  the  gauntlet  to  him, — token  of  love  as  of  war.  When 
did  ever  Wade,  a  female  Wade,  commit  such  an  indiscretion  ? 

It  was  a  bold  act,  even  for  the  bold  and  beautiful  Marion.  No 
wonder  that  it  was  succeeded  by  an  arriyre  pensse  shghtly  unpleas- 
ftnt. 

These  two  causes  of  her  discomfort  were  definite,  though  perhaps 
least  regarded. 

There  was  a  third,  as  we  have  said,  which,  though  more  vague, 
was  the  one  that  gave  her  the  greatest  uneasiness.  It  pointed  to 
peril — ^the  peril  of  her  lover. 

The  daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  was  not  indifferent  to  the 
events  of  the  time,  nor  yet  to  its  sentiments.  Though  separated 
from  the  Court,  and  well  that  she  was  so,  she  vras  not  ignorant  of  its 
trickery  and  corruption.  In  the  elevated  circle  by  which  she  was 
surrounded  these  were  but  the  topics  of  daily  discourse,  and  from 
the  moderate  yet  liberal  views  held  by  her  father  she  had  frequent 
opportunities  of  hearing  both  sides  of  the  question.  A  soul  highly 
gifted  as  hers  could  not  fail  to  discern  the  truth,  and  long  before  that 
time  she  had  imbibed  a  love  for  true  Hberty  in  its  republican  form,  a 
loathing  for  the  effete  freedom  to  be  enjoyed  under  the  rule  of  a 
king.  In  political  light  she  was  far  in  advance  of  her  father,  and 
more  than  once  had  her  counsel  guided  his  wavering  resolves ;  influ" 
encing  him  perhaps  even  more  than  the  late  outrage  of  which  he  had 
been  the  object,  to  that  determination  to  which  he  had  %t  last  yielded 
himself, — to  declare  for  the  Parliament  and  people. 

Marion  had  been  gratified  by  the  resolve ;  joyed  to  see  her  fathef 
surrendering  to  the  exigencies  of  the  times,  and  becoming  one  of  tht 
popular  party  that  had  long  owned  her  admiration. 


A  StTBPIOrOTTS   D1E!PAH?rilJIB.  '^ 

A  heart  thus  attuned  could  not  fail  to  perceive  in  flenry  Holtspui 
its  hero,  its  immaculate  idol ;  and  such  to  the  mind  of  Marion  Wade 
did  he  seem.  Differing  from  all  the  men  she  had  ever  known ;  un 
like  them  in  motives,  action  and  aspect,  in  joys  and  griefs,  passions 
and  powers ;  contrasting  ^ith  those  crawling  sycophants,  pseudo 
cavaliers  who  wore  long  love-locks  and  prated  eternally  of  coort  and 
king,  in  him  she  beheld  the  type  of  a  heroic  man,  worthy  of  a  vo- 
man's  love,  a  woman's  worship ! 

She  saw,  and  worshiped  ! 

Notwithstanding  the  fervor  of  her  adrndration,  she  did  not  believa 
him  immortal,  nor  yet  invulnerable.  He  was  Uabl«  to  the  laws  ol 
humanity, — not  its  frailties,  thought  she,  but  its  dangers. 

She  suspected  that  his  life  was  in  peril.  She  suspected  it  from  the 
rumors  that  from  time  to  time  had  reached  her  of  his  bold,  almost 
reckless,  bearing  on  matters  inimical  to  the  court.  Only  in  whispers 
had  she  heard  these  reports  previous  to  the  day  of  the  fete  in  her 
father's  park,  but  then  had  she  Hstened  to  that  loud  proclamation 
from  his  own  hps,  when,  charging^  upon  Scarthe,  he  had  cried  out 
*  Far  the  People ! '' 

She  loved  him  for  that  speech ;  but  she  had  done  so  even  before 
hearing  it,  and  she  could  not  love  him  more. 

"Cousin  Lora,"  said  she,  while  both  were  in  the  act  of  disrobings 
'  you  ought  to  be  very  happy.  What  a  fortunate  Httle  creature  you  ar«  ! 

"Why,  Marion?" 

**To  be  admired  by  so  many,  and  especially  by  the  man  you  your- 
self admire." 

**  Dear  me !  If  that  be  all,  I  am  contented.  So  should  you,  Mari- 
on, for  the  same  reason.  If  I'm  admired  by  many,  all  the  world 
pays  homage  to  you.  For  my  part,  I  don't  want  the  world  to  be  in 
love  with  me — only  one." 

"And  that's  Walter.  Well,  I  think  you're  right,  coz.  Like  yon 
I  should  never  care  to  be  a  coquette.  One  heart  well  satisfies  me — 
one  lover." 

"And  that's  Henry  Holtspur." 

"  You  know  too  much,  child,  for  me  to  deny  it." 

"But  why  should  I  be  happier  than  you  ?  You've  your  cavalier 
as  well  as  I.  He  loves  yo^i  no  doubt  as  much  as  Walter  does  me; 
and  you  love  him,  I  dare  say,  though  I  can't  be  certain  of  that,  as 
much  as  I  love  Walter.    What  then,  Marion  ? " 

"  Ah,  Lora !  your  lover  is  sure,  safe,  certain  tp  become  joxau  to$ 
Bftu    Afins  is  doubtftU  and  in  danger p*' 


wo  A  BU8PI0IOU8   DEPARTURB. 

*•  Doubtful  ?    What  mean  you  by  that,  Marion  f »» 
**  Suppose  my  fathnr  refuse  to  acknowledge  him, 
•*  Then  I  know  what  his  daughter  would  do." 
"WhatwowWshedo?" 

"Run  away  with  him;  I  don't  mean  with  the  renerable  parenil 
the  knight,  but  with  the  lover,  the  black  horseman,  By-the-way. 
what  a  romantic  thing  it  would  be  to  be  abducted  on  that  splendid 
•teed!     Troth,  Marion !  I  quite  envy  you  the  chance." 

**  For  shame,  you  silly  child !     Don't  talk  in  such  foolish  fashion !  " 

Marion  colored  slightly  as  she  uttered  the  admonition.  The 
thought  of  an  elopement  was  not  new  to  her.  She  had  entertained 
it  already;  and  it  was  just  for  this  reason  she  did  not  desire  her 
cousin  to  dwell  upon  it,  even  in  jest.  With  her  it  had  been  con- 
sidered in  serious  earnest,  and  might  be  again  if  Sir  Marmaduke 
should  prove  intractable. 

"  But  you  spoke  of  danger  ?  "  said  Lora,  changing  the  subject. 
"What  danger?" 

"  Hush  !  "  exclaimed  Marion,  suddenly  starting  back  from  th« 
mirror,  with  her  long  yellow  hair  sweeping  like  sunbeams  over  baf 
snow-white  shoulders ;  "  did  you  hear  something  ?  ** 

"The  wind?" 

"  No !  it  was  not  the  wind.  There  is  no  wind ;  though,  indeed, 
it's  dark  enough  for  a  storm.  I  fancied  I  heard  horses  going  along 
the  gravel  walk.  Extinguish  the  light,  Lora,  so  that  we  may  steal 
up  to  the  window  and  see." 

Lora  protruded  her  pretty  lips  close  up  to  the  candle  and  blew  it  out. 

The  chamber  was  in  utter  darkness. 

All  unrobed  as  she  was,  Marion  glided  up  to  the  casement,  and 
cautiously  pulling  aside  the  curtain,  looked  out  into  the  lawn. 

She  could  see  nothing;  the  night  was  dark  as  pitch. 

She  listened  all  the  more  attentively,  her  hearing  sharpened  by  the 
idea  of  some  danger  to  her  lover,  of  which,  during  all  that  day,  she 
had  been  suffering  from  a  vague  presentiment. 

Sure  enough  she  had  heard  the  hoof-strokes  of  horses  on  the 
graveled  walk,  for  she  now  heard  them  again,  not  so  lond  as  before, 
and  each  instant  becoming  more  indistiiket. 

This  time  Lora  heard  them,  too 

It  might  be  colts  straymg  from  the  pastures  of  the  park  ?  But 
the  measured  fall  of  their  feet,  with  an  occasional  clinking  of  shod 
hoofe,  proclaimed  them,  even  to  the  inexpenencod  t^xn  th«l 
listening,  to  be  horses  guided  and  riddep« 


k   SUSPICIOUS   DEJPAiRTUfiB.  211 

**  Some  one  going  out.  Who  can  it  be  at  this  hour  of  the  night! 
Tis  nearly  twelve  !  '* 

"Quite  twelve,  I  should  think,"  answered  Lora.  "That  game 
of  lansquenet  kept  us  so  long.  It  was  half-past  eleven  before 
we  were  through  with  it.  Who  should  be  going  abroad  so  late,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

Both  maidens  stood  in  the  embayment  of  the  window,  endeavoring 
with  their  glances  to  penetrate  the  darkness  outside. 

The  attempt  would  have  been  vain  had  the  obscurity  continued^ 
but  just  then  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning  slfooting  athwart  the  sky 
illuminated  the  lawn,  and  the  park  became  visible  to  the  utmost 
limit  of  its  palings. 

The  window  of  Marion's  bedchamber  opened  upon  the  ayenue 
leading  out  to  the  west.  Near  a  spot  to  her  suggestive  of  pleasant 
memories  she  now  beheld,  by  the  blaze  of  the  electric  brand,  a  sight 
that  added  to  her  uneasiness. 

Two  horsemen,  both  heavily  cloaked,  were  riding  down  the  avenue, 
their  backs  turned  towards  the  house,  as  if  they  had  just  taken  their 
departure  from  it.  They  looked  not  round.  Had  they  done  so  at 
that  instant  they  might  have  beheld  a  tableau  capable  of  attracting 
them  back. 

In  a  wide-bayed  window,  whose  low  sill  and  slight  mullions  scarce 
offered  concealment  to  their  forms,  were  two  beautiful  maidens,  lovely 
Tirgins,  robed  in  the  negligent  costume  of  night,  their  heads  close 
together,  and  their  nude  arms  mutually  encircling  one  another's 
shoulders,  white  as  the  chemisettes  draped  carelessly  over  them. 

Only  for  an  instant  was  this  provoking  tableau  exhibited.  Sudden 
as  the  recession  of  a  dissolving  view,  or  like  a  picture  falling  back  out 
of  its  frame,  did  it  disappear  from  the  sight,  leaving  in  its  place  only 
the  blank  vitreous  sheen  of  the  casement. 

Abashed  by  that  unexpected  exposure,  though  it  was  only  to  the 
eye  of  heaven,  the  chaste  maidens  had  simultaneously  receded  from 
the  window  before  the  rude  glare  that  startled  them  ceased  to  flicker 
against  the  glass. 

Sudden  as  was  their  retreating  movement,  previous  to  making  it 
they  had  recognized  the  two  cloaked  horsemen  who  wera  holding 
their  way  along  the  avenue. 

the  !  *'  exclaimed  Marioia. 
<     *  "  eiai'ulated  Lora. 


ini  A  mftAsoi^orrs  Assemble. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 


A  fBBASOKOlTS  ABSllCBLT. 


The  astoniBhment  of  the  cousins  at  seeing  two  travelers  startihi 
ft>rth  so  late,  and  upon  such  a  dismal  night,  might  have  heen  increased, 
could  they  have  extended  their  vision  beyond  the  palings  of  the  park 
»nd  surveyed  the  forest-covered  country  for  a  mile  or  two  to  th« 
northwest  of  it. 

On  the  ramification  of  roads  and  bridle-paths  that  connected  the 
towns  of  Uxbridge  and  Beaconsfield  with  the  flanking  villages  of 
Fulmer,  Stoke,  Hedgerly  and  the  two  Chalfonts,  they  might  hav« 
seen,  not  two,  but  twenty  travelers,  all  on  horseback  and  riding  each 
by  himself,  in  »  few  instances  only  two  or  three  of  them  going  to- 
gether. 

Though  upon  different  roads  and  heading  in  different  directions, 
they  all  appeared  to  be  making  for  the  same  central  bourn ;  which, 
as  they  neared  it,  could  be  told  to  be  the  old  house  of  Stone  Dean. 

One  by  one  they  kept  arriving  at  this  point  of  convergence ;  and 
passing  through  the  gate  of  the  park,  one  after  another,  they  rode 
silently  on  to  the  dwelling,  where  they  as  silently  dismounted. 

There  delivering  up  their  horses  to  three  men  who  stood  ready  to 
take  them,  the  visitors  stepped  unbidden  within  the  open  doorway, 
and  following  a  dark-skinned  youth  who  received  them  without  say- 
ing a  word,  were  conducted  along  the  dimly-lighted  corridor  and 
ushered  into  an  inner  apartment. 

As  they  passed  under  the  light  of  the  hall  lamp,  or  had  been  seen 
outside  during  the  occasional  flashes  of  the  lightning,  the  costume 
and  bearing  of  these  saturnine  guests  proclaimed  them  to  be  men  of 
no  mean  degree,  while  their  travel-stained  habiliments  told  that 
they  had  ridden  some  distance  before  entering  the  gates  of  Stone 
Dean. 

It  might  have  been  remarked  as  strange  that  such  cavaliers  of 
quality  were  thus  traveling  unattended,  for  not  one  of  them  was  ac- 
companied by  groom  or  servant  of  any  sort.      It  wtm  also  strangt 


A  TREASONOtTS   ASSEMBLY.  2lS 

that  no  notice  was  taken  of  this  cii*cumstance  by  the  men  w  ha  led  of! 
their  horses  towards  the  stables,  all  three  performing  their  duty 
without  the  slightest  exhibition  of  either  cuiiosity  or  surprise. 

None  of  the  three  wore  the  regular  costume  of  grooms  or  stable 
•ervants,  nor  had  any  of  them  the  appearance  of  being  accustomed 
to  act  in  such  a  capacity.  The  somewhat  awkward  manner  in  which 
they  were  fulfilling  their  office  plainly  proclaimed  that  it  was  new  to 
them ;  while  their  style  of  dress,  though  different  in  each,  declared 
them  to  belong  to  other  calUngs. 

Two  were  habited  in  the  ordinary  peasant  garb  of  the  period,  with 
a  few  touches  that  told  them  to  be  woodmen ,  and,  as  the  lightning 
flashed  upon  their  faces,  it  revealed  these  two  personages  to  be  Dick 
Dancy,  and  his  co-adjutor.  Will  Walford. 

The  dress  of  the  third  was  not  characteristic  of  any  exact  calling; 
but  appeared  rather  a  combination  of  several  styles :  as  though  sever- 
a1  individuals  had  contributed  a  portion  of  their  apparel  to  his  make' 
up.  There  was  a  pair  of  buff-leather  boots,  which,  in  point  of  ele^ 
gance,  might  have  encased  the  feet  and  ancles  of  a  cavalier — the  wide 
tops  turned  down  over  the  knees,  showing  a  profusion  of  white  lining 
inside.  Above  these  dangled  the  legs  of  a  pair  of  petticoat  breeches 
of  coarse  kersey,  which  strangely  contrasted  with  the  costly  character 
of  the  boots.  Over  the  waistband  of  the  breeches  puffed  out  a  shirt 
of  finest  hnen,  though  far  from  being  either  spotless  or  clean ; 
while  this  was  again  overtopped  by  a  doublet  of  homespun  woolen 
cloth,  of  the  kind  known  as  "  marry-muffe  " — slashed  among  the 
sleeves  with  the  cheapest  of  cotton  velveteen.  Surmounting  this,  in 
Hke  contrast,  was  the  broad  lace  collar  band  of  a  cavalier,  with  cuffs 
to  correspond,  both  looking  as  if  the  last  place  of  deposite  had  been 
the  buck-basket  of  a  washerwoman,  and  the  wearer  had  taken  them 
thence,  with«)ut  waiting  for  their  being  submitted  to  the  operations  of 
the  laundry. 

Add  to  the  above-mentioned  habiliments  a  high-crowned  felt  hat, 
Bomewhat  battered  about  the  brim,  with  a  tarnished  tinsel  band,  but 
without  any  pretense  at  a  plume ;  and  you  have  the  complete  costume 
of  the  third  individual  who  was  acting  as  aa  extemporized  stable* 
helper  at  the  dwelling  of  Stone  Dean. 

Had  there  been  light  enough  for  the  travelers  to  have  scrutinized 
his  features,  no  doubt  they  would  have  been  somewhat  astonished  at 
this  queer-looking  personage,  who  assisted  in  disembarassing  them  of 
their  steeds.     Perhaps  some  of  them,  seeing  his  iace,  might  h^Tt 


114  A  TRBABONOtrS   ASSEMBLY. 

thought  twice  before  trusting  him  with  the  keeping  of  %  Taluable  horse 
for,  in  the  tall  stalwart  figure,  that  appeared  both  peasant  and  gen 
tleman  in  alternate  sections,  they  might  have  recognized  an  old  and 
not  very  trustworthy  acquaintance,  the    famed   footpad,    Gregory 
Garth.  ? 

In  the  darkness,  however,  Gregory  ran  no  risk  of  detection,  and 
continued  to  play  his  improvised  part  without  any  apprehensions  ol 
an  awkward  encounter. 

By  the  time  that  the  great  clock  in  the  tower  of  Chalfont  Church 
had  ceased  tolling  the  hour  of  twelve,  more  than  twenty  of  the  noc- 
tural  visilors  to  Stone  Dean  had  entered  within  the  walls  of  that 
quaint  old  dwelling  ;  and  still  the  sound  of  shod  hoofs,  clinking  occa- 
sionally against  the  stones  upon  the  adjacent  road,  told  that  an  odd 
straggler  had  yet  to  arrive. 

About  this  time  two  horsemen,  riding  together,  passed  in  through 
the  gate  of  the  park.  Following  the  fashion  of  the  others,  they  con- 
tinued on  to  the  front  of  the  house,  where  like  the  others,  they  also 
dismounted,  and  surrendered  their  horses  to  two  of  th^  men  who 
stepped  forward  to  receive  them. 

These  animals,  like  the  others,  were  led  back  to  the  stables ;  but 
their  riders,  instead  of  entering  the  house  by  the  front  door,  as  had 
been  done  by  all  those  who  had  preceded  them,  in  this  respect  devi- 
ated slightly  from  the  programme. 

As  soon  as  the  two  grooms,  who  had  taken  their  horses,  were  fair- 
ly 'Out  of  sight,  they  were  seen  to  act  in  obedience  to  a  sign  given 
by  the  third ;  who  whispering  to  them  to  follow  him,  led  the  way  first 
along  the  front  of  the  house,  and  then  around  one  of  its  wings,  to- 
wards the  rear. 

Even  had  there  been  moonlight,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  iden- 
tify  these  new  comers,  who  were  so  mysteriously  diverted  from  mak- 
ing entrance  by  the  front  door.  Both  were  muffled  in  cloaks,  mom 
ample  and  heavy  than  the  quality  of  the  night  seemed  to  call  for. 
Scarcely  could  the  threatening  storm  account  for  this  providence  oo 
their  part. 

On  rounding  the  angle  of  the  building,  the  man  preceding  then 
made  a  stop,  at  the  same  time  half  facing  about. 

A  gleam  of  lightning  disclosed  the  countenance  of  their  conductor. 
It  was  the  woodman — Walford. 

Jlis  face  was  paler  than  wont — of  that  ghastly  hue  that  denotes  th« 
consciousness  of  crime,  while  his  deep-set  watcory  eyes,  shining  froK: 


211 

beneatk  his  white  eyebrows  and  hay-colored  hwr,  gave  to  his  ill-fa- 
tored  features  an  expression  almost  demoniac. 

The  countenances  of  the  two  cavaliers  were  also  for  an  instant  illum- 
inated. One  was  the  handsome  face  of  Captain  Scarthe,  appearing  like 
that  of  the  guide  unnaturally  pale  under  the  unearthly  glare  of  the 
dectric  light.  The  other  was  the  stolid,  but  rubicund,  countenance 
•f  his  subaltern,  Stubbs. 

While  the  light  lasted,  Walford  was  seen  beckoning  them  to  follov 
fkster. 

"  Coom  on,  masters !  '*  muttered  he,  in  an  earnest,  hurried  tone, 
"there's  ne'er  a  minute  to  be  lost.  That  'ere  duminy  o*  an  Indyer 
has  got  his  eyes  everywhere.  If  he  sees  ye,  he'll  want  to  take  ye  in 
side  among  the  rest ;  an'  that  won't  answer  yer  purpose,  I  reckon." 
"  No  !  that  would  never  do,"  muttered  Scarthe,  hastening  his  steps ; 
**  our  presence  inside  would  spoil  this  pretty  pie.  Go  on,  my  good 
fellow !    We'll  follow  you,  close  as  the  skirt  of  your  doublet." 

Without  another  word  the  trio  moved  on,  the  guide  keeping  a  pace 
or  two  in  advance ;  Stubbs  clumsily  staggering  in  the  rear. 

In  this  order  they  continued  around  the  right  wing  of  the  house, 
all  three  making  their  way  with  as  much  silence  and  caution,  as  if  they 
had  been  a  band  of  burglars  about  to  enter  upon  the  ceremony  ol 
"  cracking  a  crib." 

The  almost  amorphous  darkness  would  have  hindered  them  from 
being  observed,  even  had  there  been  any  one  in  the  way.    But  there 
was  not — no  one  to  see  them  stealing  along  that  sombre-colored  wall 
— no  eye  to  witness  their  entrance  within  the  private  side-door  that 
admitted  them  by  a  narrow  passage  into  the  unused  apartments  of 
the  house,— no  eye  to  behold  them  as  they  stood  within  that  small 
dark  chamber,  that  commun  "^ated  by  a  window  of  dingy  glass  with 
the  large  hall  in  which  the  gu«sts  of  Henry  Holtspur  were  assembled. 
"Just  the  place!"  whispered  Scarthe,  as  glancing  through  the 
glass,  he  saw  the  forms  of  men,  moving  confusedly  over  the  floor  of  a 
well-lit  apartment,  and  listened  to  the  murmur  of  voices.    "  The  very 
observatory  I  wished  for.    Now  go,  my  good  fellow !  "  he  continued, 
transferring  his  whisper  to  the  ear  of  Walford.     "  In  twenty  minutes 
from   this  time   steal   our  horses  out  of  the  stables,  and  have  them 
ready.    We  shall  go  back  by  the  front  entrance.     Your  worthy  con- 
freres wiU  never  know  but   that  we've  issued  from  the  hive  inside 
there.     If  they  should  suspect  anything,  I've  got  two  sorts  of  metal 
Upon  my  person,  one  or  other  of  which  will  be  sure  to  keep  then 
qoiei,** 


216  A  TRfiASON"OtjS   ASSEMBLY. 

Half  pushing  his  late  conductor  back  into  the  passage,  Scartht 
quietly  closed  the  door  behind  him ;  and  drew  Stubbs  up  to  the  cob- 
web-covered window.  Behind  it  both  silently  took  their  stand, 
crouching  like  a  pair  of  gigantic  spiders,  that  had  placed  themselvef 
in  expectation  of  prey  ! 

Neither  made  the  slightest  stir.  They  no  longer  talked  to  eadi 
other  even  in  whispers.  They  were  well  aware  of  the  danger  they 
would  incur,  if  detected  in  their  eavesdropping — aware  that  they 
might  have  to  pay  for  it  with  their  lives,  or  at  the  very  least,  suffer 
severe  punishment,  by  a  castigation  upon  the  spot,  and  the  conse- 
quent disgrace  due  to  their  dastardly  conduct.  The  act  they  were 
committing  was  of  no  trifling  character,  no  child's  play  of  hide  and 
Beek ;  but  a  bold  and  dangerous  game  of  espionage,  in  which  not  only 
the  personal  liberty,  but  even  the  lives  of  many  individuals  might  be 
placed  in  peril,  these  too,  among  the  highest  in  the  land. 

Scarthe  was  conscious  of  all  this ;  and  but  that  he  was  impelled  to 
the  act  by  the  most  powerful  passion  of  man's  nature,  the  prompt- 
ings of  a  profound  jealousy,  he  might  have  hesitated  before  placing 
himself  in  such  a  position.  His  mere  political  proclivities  would 
never  have  tempted  him  to  the  committal  of  such  an  imprudent  act. 
Much  as  he  inclined  towards  the  king,  he  was  not  the  man  to  play 
spy  over  a  conference  of  conspirators,  such  as  he  believed  this  assem- 
bly to  be,  from  motives  of  mere  loyalty.  The  thought  stimulating 
him  was  stronger  by  far. 

He  had  not  placed  himself  in  that  position  blindly  trusting  to  chance. 
Like  a  skilled  strategist,  as  he  was,  he  had  well  reconnoitred  the 
ground  before  entering  upon  it.  His  co-adjutor,  Walford,  acting  under 
a  somewhat  similar  motive,  had  freely  furnished  him  with  all  the  in- 
formation he  required.  The  woodman — from  an  acquaintance  with 
the  old  "care-taker,"  who  had  held  charge  of  the  house  previous  to 
Holtspur's  occupation — had  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  dwellinf 
of  Stone  Dean —  its  ins  and  its  outs — ^its  trap-doors  and  sliding- 
panels — every  stair  and  comer,  from  cellar  to  garret.  Walford  had 
assured  the  spies,  that  the  chamber  in  which  he  secreted  them  was 
never  entered  by  any  one ;  and  that  the  glass-door  communicating 
with  the  larger  apartment  could  not  be  opened,  without  breaking  it  to 
pieces.  Not  only  was  its  lock  sealed  with  the  rust  of  time,  but  the 
door  itself  was  nail^  fast  to  the  post  and  lintels. 

There  was  no  fear  of  their  being  seen.  The  cobwebs  precluded  th* 
possibilify  of  thAt.    Am  to  their  being  heard^  it  would  depend  upon 


A  TEEA80NOU8   ASSEMBLY.  21? 

their  own  behavior ;  and  under  the  circumstances,  neither  sapiain 
nor  cornet  were  likely  to  make  any  noise  that  might  attract  attention 

For  the  rest  the  affair  had  been  easy  enough.  Among  a  crowd  oi 
unknown  guests  arriving  at  the  house — even  under  the  supervision  of 
ft  staff  of  regular  domestics — it  was  not  likely  that  a  distinction  should 
be  made  between  the  invited  and  those  unasked ;  much  less  under 
the  outre  circumstances  foreseen  and  well  understood  by  Scarthe  and 
his  companion. 

Neither  Dancey  nor  Garth  were  supposed  to  know  the  persons  of 
either.  Nor  had  Oriole  ever  seen  them ;  though  Walford  was  far 
more  concerned  about  the  instincts  of  the  Indian,  than  the  observa- 
tions  of  his  fellow-helpers. 

So  far,  however,  he  had  succeeded  in  baffling  both. 

Scarthe  commenced  by  wiping  off  enough  of  the  cobwebs,  to  give 
him  a  clear  disc  of  vision,  of  about  the  size  of  a  crown  piece. 

With  his  eye  close  to  the  glass  he  commanded  a  view  of  the  adjoin- 
ing apartment,  as  well  as  the  company  it  contained. 

As  to  hearing,  there  was  no  difficulty  about  that.  Even  the  ordi- 
nary conversation  could  be  heard  plainly  through  the  panes ;  but  when 
any  one  spoke  louder  than  the  rest,  every  word  could  be  distin- 
j^ished. 

Scarthe  had  not  been  very  long  occupied  in  his  surveillance,  before 
perceiving  that  he  was  playing  the  spy  upon  a  company  of  gentlemen. 
None  present  were  of  the  peasant  type. 

Soon  also  did  he  become  acquainted  with  the  general  tenor  of  the 
discourse ;  and  convinced  of  the  correctness  of  his  conjetcture :  that  the 
meeting  was  an  assembly  of  conspirators.  This  was  the  name  given 
to  it  by  the  loyalist  captain ;  though  rather  did  it  merit  to  be  called 
ft  conference  of  patriots — perhaps  the  purest  that  ever  assembled  on 
the  earth. 

The  subjects  discussed  were  various ;  but  all  relating  to  two  mat- 
ters of  chief  moment : — the  liberty  of  the  subject;  and  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  sovereign.  Out  of  doors,  or  inside,  these  were  the 
topics  of  the  time. 

Three  or  four  of  the  speakers  appeared  to  be  regarded  above  the 
TWt'y  and  when  one  or  other  of  these  stood  up,  an  air  of  silent  respect 
pervaded  the  assembly. 

Scarthe  had  no  personal  knowledge  of  these  distinguLsJied  individ- 
uals. He  little  suspected,  when  that  man  of  noble  mien  rose  up — he 
for  whom  the  hum  of  conversation  became  suddenly  hushed— ftn^ 

w 


tl8  A  TREASOKOtJS  ASSEMBLY. 

Bpon  whom  every  eye  was  turned  with  %  regard  that  seeme4  that  ol 
a  brotherly  affection — ^little  suspected  the  sneaking  spy  of  a  Court, 
(hat  he  was  listening  to  the  most  disinterested  patriot  England  haf 
aver  produced — that  glorious  hero  of  the  Chilterns,  John  Hanipdeu. 

As  httle  knew  he  that  in  the  speaker  who  followed,  a  man  of  ma- 
ture age,  and  perhaps  of  more  eloquent  tongue,  he  beheld  the  futun 
accuser  of  Strafford,  the  bold  prosecutor  who  successfully  brougat 
this  notorious  renegade  to  the  block. 

Neither  did  Scarthe  recognize  in  that  young  but  grave  gentleman, 
who  spoke  so  enthusiastically  in  favor  of  a  nonconformist  religion,  the 
self-denying  nobleman,  Sir  Harry  Vane ;  nor  in  him  who  had  a  quick 
answer  for  every  opponent,  and  a  jest  for  every  occasion,  the  elegant, 
whose  appearance  of  superficial  dandyism  concealed  a  heart  truely 
devoted  to  the  interests  of  EngUsh  liberty,  Harry  Martin  of  Berks. 

From  his  concealment  Scarthe  saw  all  these  noble  and  heroic  men, 
without  identifying  them.  He  cared  not  for  one  or  the  other,  what 
they  did,  or  what  they  said.  His  eye  was  set,  and  his  ear  bent,  to 
see  one  who  had  not  yet  presented  himself,  to  hear  one  who  had  not 
yet  spoken. 

The  host  of  the  house,  he  who  had  summoned  these  guests  together, 
was  the  man  whom  Scarthe  desired  to  see  and  hear.  Though  the 
royalist  spy  felt  satisfied,  that  what  had  passed  already  would  be 
proof  sufficient  against  Holtspur,  he  wanted  one  speech  from  his  own 
mouth,  one  word  that  would  more  surely  convict  him. 

He  was  not  disappointed.  In  that  congregation  Henry  Holtspur 
was  not  expected  to  be  silent.  Though  regarded  more  in  the  light 
of  an  actor  than  an  orator,  there  was  those  who  waited  to  hear  him 
with  that  silent  eagerness  that  tells  of  a  truer  appreciation  than  the 
mere  ebullition  of  a  noisy  enthusiasm.  As  the  host  of  the  house  ha 
had  hitherto  modestly  remained  in  the  background,  until  forced  to 
take  his  turn;  and  his  turn  at  length  came. 

In  a  speech  which  occupied  more  than  an  hour,  Pym  had  set  b^ 
fore  the  assembly  a  full  list  of  the  grievances  under  which  the  nation 
groaned,  a  sort  of  epitome  of  the  famous  oration  that  afterwards 
ushered  in  the  attainder  of  Strafford.  Its  effect  upon  aU,  was  to 
strengthen  them  in  the  determination  to  oppose,  with  greater  energy 
than  ever,  the  usurpations  of  the  Court ;  and  many  of  the  gentlemen 
present  declared  their  willingness  to  make  any  sacrifice,  either  per- 
sonal or  pecuniary,  rather  than  longer  submit  to  the  illegal  exactions 
al  tba  monarch. 


▲  TEBASOirOTTS  ASSEMBLY.  211 

•■  Wliy/'  laid  Holtspur,  rising  to  his  feet  and  standing  conspicu- 
ously before  his  guests ;  *'  why  should  we  continue  to  talk  in  enigmas } 
I,  for  one,  am  tired  of  keeping  up  this  pretense  of  hostility  towardi 
the  subordinates,  whilst  the  real  enemy  is  allowed  to  escape  all  ac 
eusations  of  criminaUty.  It  is  not  Strafford,  nor  Laud,  nor  Finch 
nor  Main  waring,  nor  Windebank,  who  are  the  oppressors  of  the  peo- 
ple. These  are  but  the  tools  of  the  tyiant.  Destroy  them  to-day, 
tnd  to-morrow  others  will  be  found  to  supply  their  place,  as  fitting 
•nd  truculent  as  they.  To  what  end,  then,  are  our  protests  and  pro- 
secutions ?  The  hydra  of  despotism  can  only  be  crushed  by  depriving 
it  of  iti  head.  The  poisonous  tree  of  evil  is  not  to  be  destroyed  by 
here  and  there  lopping  off  a  branch.  It  can  be  rendered  innoxious 
only  by  striking  at  its  roots ! 

"  Some  gentlemen  here  seem  to  think,  that,  by  surrounding  the 
king  with  good  counselors,  we  may  succeed  in  bringing  him  to  rule 
with  Justin.  But  good  counselors,  under  the  influence  of  an  un- 
scrupulous Court,  may  any  day  change  their  character ;  and  then  the 
work  will  have  to  be  done  over  again.  Look  at  Strafford  himself ! 
Ten  years  ago,  had  we  met  as  we  meet  to-night,  Thomas  Wentworth 
would  have  been  with  us,  foremost  in  our  councils.  See  the  baneful 
effects  of  royal  &Tor !  It  will  ever  be  so,  as  long  as  men  set  up  an 
idol,  call  it  a  king,  and  fall  down  upon  their  faces  to  worship  it ! 

••  For  my  own  part  I  scorn  to  palter  with  words.  I  see  but  one 
enmmal  worthy  our  accusations :  and  he  is  neither  counselor,  nor 
secretary,  nor  bishop ;  but  the  master  of  all  three.  In  my  mind,  gen- 
tlemen, it  is  no  longer  a  question  of  whether  we  are  to  be  ruled  by  a 
good  king  or  a  bad  king;  but  whether  we  are  to  have  a  king  at  all  /" 

"  My  sentiments  ! "  cried  Henry  Martin,  and  several  others  of  the 
younger  and  bolder  spirits ;  while  a  general  murmur  of  approbation 
was  heard  throughout  the  room. 

These  were  wild  words,  even  within  that  secret  assemblage.  The 
question  of  king  or  no  king  had  begun  to  shape  itself  in  the  minds 
of  a  few  men ;  but  this  was  the  first  time  it  had  risen  to  the  lips  of 
•ny  one^  It  was  the  first  spoken  summons  invoking  the  dark  shadow 
that  hovered  over  the  head  of  Charles  Stuart,  until  his  neck  lay 
bleeding  on  the  block ! 

«  Enough ! "  gasped  dnt  Scarthe,  in  an  almost  inaudible  whisper, 
18  he  recovered  his  long-suspended  breath ;  <'  enough  for  my  purpose 
You  heard  it,  Stubbs?  *' 

"I  did,  by  Ged !  "  replied  the  subordinate  spy,  taking  care  to  inl 
|«te  his  superior  in  the  low  tone  in  which  he  made  answer. 


S90  A  TREASONOUS    aSSEMBLY. 

"  We  may  go  now,"  said  Scarthe.  "  There's  nothing  more  to  bl 
•een  or  done — ^at  least  nothing  I  need  care  for.  Ha !  who's  speaking 
now?    That  voice?    Surely  I've  heard  it  before !  " 

As  he  said  this,  he  placed  his  eye  once  more  to  the  disc  of  clearefl 
glass. 

Suddenly  drawing  himself  back,  and  clutching  his  associate  by  tbt 
arm,  he  muttered — 

"  Who  do  you  think  is  there  ?  ** 

"Can't  guess,  captain." 

"  Listen  then !  "  and  placing  his  lips  close  to  the  ear  of  his  com 
panion  he  whispered  in  slow  syllables,  "  Sir  Mar-ma-duke  Wade." 

"Do  you  say  so?" 

"  Look  for  yourself :  look  and  listen !  Do  both  well :  for  the  worda 
you  hear  may  yet  win  you  your  sweethearts* 

"  How,  captain  ? " 

"  Don't  question  me  now,"  hurriedly  replied  the  latter,  at  the  same 
time  returning  to  his  attitude  of  attention. 

It  was  in  truth  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  who  was  addressing  thf 
assembly.  But  his  speech  was  a  very  short  one ;  for  the  worthy 
knight  was  no  orator ;  and  it  was  nearly  finished  by  the  time  Scarthe 
and  the  comet  had  succeeded  in  placing  themselves  in  a  position  to 
have  heard  him. 

Enough  reached  the  ears  of  the  former  to  give  him  all  he  required 
for  a  fell  purpose ;  which  even  at  that  moment  had  commenced  tak- 
mg  shape  in  his  diabolical  brain. 

In  the  few  words  that  dropped  from  the  lips  of  his  host,  Scarthe 
could  discover  sufficient  evidence  of  disloyalty.  Indeed,  the  presence 
of  Sir  Marmaduke  in  that  place — coupled  with,  perhaps,  s-omething 
more  than  suspicion  which  the  king  already  entertained  towards  him 
— ^would  be  proof  enough  to  satisfy  the  Star  Chamber. 

"We  may  go  now,"  whispered  Scarthe,  stealing  towards  the  door, 
and  drawing  his  subaltern  after  him.  "  Softly,  cornet !  "  continued 
he,  as  hand  in  hand  they  retraced  the  dark  passage.  "  Those  boots 
of  yours  creak  like  a  ship  in  a  swell !  Fancy  you  are  treading  on 
eggs!'' 

As  he  made  this  tacetiOTifl  remark,  they  emerged  into  the  open  air; 
and  whispering  mutual  congratulations,  went  skulking  onward,  like 
a  brace  of  felons  making  their  escape  from  the  confinement  of  a  prison. 

"If  this  fellow,"  said  Scarthe,  "can  only  succeed  in  extricating 
our  horses,  I  think  we  may  flatter  ourselves,  that  we  have  made  e 
•nooesafiil  Job  of  it.    Gome  ou>^ 


A  TEEASONOrS   ASSEIVIBLT.  221 

And  Scarthe  led  the  way  along  the  wall,  towards  the  front  of  thf 
dwelling. 

They  proceeded  with  as  much  caution  as  ever.  Though  outside, 
they  were  not  yet  safe  from  having  their  presence  discovered,  and 
their  purpose  suspected. 

The  sky  was  clearer  than  when  they  had  last  looked  upon  it :  for 
Che  thunder-storm,  now  over,  had  scattered  the  clouds,  and  deluged 
the  earth  with  rain. 

At  the  angle  of  the  building  they  could  make  out  the  figure  of  a 
man,  standing  under  the  shadow  of  a  tree.  It  was  Walford.  On 
seeing  them,  he  stepped  forth,  and  advanced  to  meet  them. 

"  Theer  be  nobody  by  the  frontdoor,"  he  muttered,  when  nea* 
enough  to  be  heard.  "  Stay  by  the  steps,  but  don't  show  yer  faces. 
1*11  ha'  the  horses  round  in  a  twinkle." 

Saying  this,  the  traitor  left  them ;  and  disappeared  in  the  direction 
of  the  stables. 

Obedient  to  his  instructions,  they  took  their  stand;  and  still  con- 
versing in  whispers,  awaited  his  return. 

True  to  his  promise,  almost  in  an  instant  the  two  horses  were 
brought  round — one  led  by  himself,  the  other  by  Dancey. 

The  latter  was  too  much  occupied  by  the  gold  piece,  glistening 
within  his  palm,  to  think  of  scrutinizing  the  countenance  of  the  giver 

**Odds  luck,  Wull!  "  said  he,  turning  to  his  comrade,  after  the 
two  horsemen  had  ridden  ofi";  "  stable  keepin'  appear  to  be  a  better 
bizness  than  winin'  the  wood-ax.  If  they  be  all  as  liberal  as  these 
'uns  we  shall  ha'  a  profitable  night  o't." 

Walford  assented  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  a  significant 
grin,  which  in  the  darkness  was  not  noticed  by  the  unsuspicioui 
deerstealer. 

Just  then,  George  Garth  coming  up  armed  with  a  tankard  of  ale, 
perhaps  surreptitiously  drawn  from  the  cellar,  interrupted  the  con- 
▼ersation,  or  rather  changed  it  in  a  different  channel ;  for  it  was  stiB 
carried  on  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  copious  i^nbibing  of  the  honi» 
brewed. 


^'  AIJ  >FKFST  KESOLVED   UPOlf. 


OHAPTEB  XXXVL 


MM  ABBBST  BBSOLYBO  UFOIT. 


Tbe  ^o  spies  moved  silently  away,  neither  speaking  aboTe  hifi 
breath,  till  they  had  regained  the  road,  outside  the  gates  of  Stont 
Dean;  then>  no  longer  fearing  to  be  overheard,  they  talked  in  louder 
tones. 

"What  a  grand  covp  it  would  be,"  observed  Scarthe,  partly  ia 
•oliloquy,  and  partly  addressing  himself  to  his  companion, 

"  What,  captain  ? "  inquired  Stubbs. 

**  To  capture  this  whole  nest  of  conspirators.** 

"It  would,  by  Ged!" 

''It  would  get  me  that  colonelcy,  true  as  a  triret;  and  yoB,  my 
worthy  comet,  would  become  Captain  Stubbs.** 

**  Zounds !  why  not  try  to  take  'em,  then  ?  '* 

**  Simply  because  we  can't.  By  the  time  we  should  get  our  vaga- 
bonds in  their  saddles,  and  ride  back,  every  knave  of  them  would  ht 
gone.  I  saw  they  were  about  to  break  up;  and  that's  why  I  came 
so  quickly  away.  Yes — ^yes !  "  continued  he,  reflectingly,  "  they'd  b« 
scattered  to  the  four  winds,  before  we  could  get  back.  Besides,  be- 
sides, he  might  slip  off  through  the  darkness,  and  give  trouble  to  find 
him  afterwards.  What  matters  to  me  about  the  others  ?  I  must 
make  sure  of  him;  and  that  will  be  best  done  in  the  daylight.  To* 
morrow  he  shall  be  mine ;  and  the  day  after,  the  Ueutenant  of  ths 
Tower  shall  have  him;  and  the  Star  Chamber;  and  then — thg  Kaf- 

four' 

"But,  captain,"  said  Stubbs,  in  answer  to  the  soliloquized  speech, 
only  a  portion  of  which  he  had  heard,  "  what  about  our  worthy  host, 
Sir  Marmaduke  ?     Can't  you  take  him  1 " 

"  At  any  time — ^ha,  ha,  ha !  And  hark  you,  Stubbs !  I've  a  word 
for  you  on  that  delicate  subject.  I've  promised  you  promotion.  The 
qneen,  on  my  recommendation,  will  see  that  you  have  it.  But  you 
get  my  endorsement,  only  on  conditions,  on  conditions,  do  you  hear?** 

"  I  do.    What  conditions,  captain  ? " 

•*That  you  say  nothing,  either  of  wb«re  you've  been,  what  you*fi 


AN  ABBEST  BESOLVfiD   UPOH;  22S 

heard,  cr  what  you'ire  seen  this  night,  till  I  gtfa  yoa  the  cae  ta 

speak.** 

"Not  a  word,  by  (Jed!    I  promise  that.** 

**  Very  well.  It'll  be  to  your  interest,  my  worthy  cometi  to  keep 
your  promise,  if  you  oyer  expect  me  to  call  you  captain.  In  time 
you  may  understand  my  reasons  for  binding  you  to  secrecy ;  and  in 
time  you  shall.  Meanwhile,  not  a  whisper  of  where  we've  been  to- 
night, least  of  all  to  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade.  Ah !  my  noble  knight !  ** 
continued  the  captain,  speaking  to  himself;  "  I've  now  got  the  sun 
shining  that  will  thaw  the  ice  of  your  aristocratic  superciliousness ! 
And  you,  indifferent  dame !  If  I  mistake  not  your  sex  and  your  sort, 
ere  another  moon  has  flung  its  mystic  influence  over  your  mind,  I  shall 
tread  your  indifference  in  the  dust,  make  you  open  those  loving  arms, 
twine  them  around  the  neck  of  Richard  Scarthe,  and  cry,  "  Be  mine, 
dearest !  mine  for  ever  !  " 

The  speaker  rose  exultingly  in  his  stirrups,  as  if  he  had  already 
felt  that  thrilling  embrace ;  but,  in  a  moment  after,  sank  back  into 
his  saddle,  and  sat  in  a  cowed  and  cowering  attitude. 

It  was  but  the  natural  revulsion  of  an  over-triumphant  feelu.g,  the 
reaction  that  succeeds  the  indulgence  of  an  unreal  and  selfish  conceit. 

His  sudden  start  upward  had  roused  afresh  the  pain  in  his  wounded 
arm.  It  recalled  a  series  of  circumstances  calculated  to  humiliate 
him ;  his  defeat,  the  finding  of  the  glove,  his  suspicion  of  a  rival,  that 
assignation  scene,  that  almost  made  it  a  certainty. 

All  these  remembrances  suggested  by  the  sting  of  the  still  unhealed 
Bword-woimd,  as  they  came  simultaneously  rolling  over  his  soul,  swept 
fi  clear  of  every  thought  of  triumph ;  and,  despite  the  success  f  his 
strategy,  he  re-entered  the  park  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  as  heavy 
in  heart,  and  perhaps  poorer  in  hope,  than  any  tramping  mendicant 
that  had  ever  trodden  its  tree-shaded  avenues. 

He  knew  the  situation  of  Marion's  sleeping  chamber.  He  had  made 
it  his  business  to  ascertain  that.  He  gazed  upon  the  window  as  he 
rode  forward ;  he  fancied  he  saw  a  form  receding  behind  the  curtain, 
like  some  white  nymph  dissolving  herself  into  the  world  of  ether. 

He  checked  his  steed ;  and  for  a  long  time  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  casement ;  but  nothing  appeared  to  impart  consolation.  There 
was  no  light  in  the  chamber ;  the  cold  glitter  of  the  glass  was  in  con- 
sonance with  the  chill  that  had  crept  over  his  spirits ;  and  he  moved 
mh  ooiiTinoed  that  his  ima^ation  had  be^n  mocking  him. 


124 

And  yet  it  wm  not  so.  It  was  a  real  form,  and  no  illusion  thai  hi 
had  seen  receding  from  the  window — the  form  of  Marion  Wade,  thai 
more  than  once  had  appeared  since  his  departure. 

The  lamp  so  opportunely  extinguished,  had  not  been  re-lit.  Tht 
eousins,  grouping  their  way  through  the  darkness,  had  betaken  them* 
selves  to  bed. 

What  else  could  they  do  ?  Even  though  what  they  had  seen  migfaA 
forbode  evil  to  some  one,  what  power  had  they  to  avert  it  ? 

Had  there  been  a  certainty  of  danger,  it  is  true — ^and  to  him  who 
was  the  chief  subject  of  her  apprehensions — Marion  Wade  could  not 
have  gone  tranquilly  to  sleep. 

Neither  did  she ;  for  although  the  midnight  excursion  of  the  cuiraa* 
tier  captain  and  his  cornet  might  have  no  serious  significance,  coupled 
with  the  presentiment  from  which  she  was  already  sufiferiAg,  she  could 
not  help  fancying  that  it  had.~. 

The  hour  was  too  late  for  an  adventure,  either  of  gayety  or  gallan- 
iry,  in  a  rural  neighborhood,  where  all  the  world— even  the  wicked 
— should  have  long  ago  retired  to  rest. 

For  more  than  an  hour  the  cousins  had  lain  side  by  side — conferring 
on  the  incident  that  had  so  unexpectedly  transpired.  Of  other  con- 
fidences they  had  unbosomed  themselves — though  much  of  what  they 
intended  to  have  said  remained  unspoken;  on  account  of  the  distrac- 
tion caused  to  their  thoughts  by  this  new  circimistance. 

Both  had  been  perplexed — alike  unable  to  discover  the  clue  to  th« 
mysterious  movement  of  Scarthe  and  his  comet. 

After  more  than  an  hoiur  spent  in  shaping  conjectures,  and  building 
hypotheses,  they  had  arrived  no  nearer  to  a  rational  belief,  than  when 
commencing  their  speculations  on  the  subject. 

Finally,  Lora,  less  interested  in  the  event  or  its  consequences,  laid 
her  head  complacently  on  the  pillow,  and  fell  off  into  a  sleep — deter« 
mined  no  doubt,  to  dream  of  Walter. 

For  Marion  there  was  no  such  solace ;  no  rest  for  her  that  night-* 
with  the  image  of  Henry  Holtspur  hovering  over  her  heart ;  and  hei 
bosom  filled  with  vague  apprehensions  about  his  safety. 

She  had  not  tried  to  sleep.  She  had  not  even  kept  to  her  coach; 
but  stealing  silently  from  her  unconscious  cousin,  she  had  repeatedly 
sought  the  window;  and  gazed  forth  from  it. 

After  going  several  times  to  and  fro,  she  had  at  length  stationed 
\erself  by  the  casement ;  and  there  crouching  in  its  embayment,  htr 
form  shrouded  by  the  silken  tapestry,  had  she  remained  for  hours, 
l^mierly  listening  tp  p^^rj  Bonui^  iisiening  to  the  vm,  ^  it  pl«s}ie4 


AN  AKBK8T  BBSOLVBD   UPOH.  22* 

bcanlj  on  roof,  terrace,  and  trees,  watching  the  lightnmg's  flashy 
Rij  aining  her  eyes  while  it  glared  adown  the  dark  arcade  between  tht 
chestnuts,  that  bordered  the  path  by  which  the  noctural  excursionist* 
might  be  expected  to  re-appear. 

Her  vigil  was  not  unrewarded.  They  came  back  at  length,  as  the^ 
had  gone,  Scarthe  and  Stubbs,  together  and  by  themselves. 

**  Thank  Heaven !  "  muttered  Marion,  as  she  caught  sight  of  tb* 
iwQ  forms  returning  up  the  avenue,  and  saAv  that  they  were  alone^ 
'*  Thank  Heaven !  Their  errand,  whatever  it  may  have  been,  is  ended. 
I  hope  it  had  no  reference  to  him ! " 

Holding  the  curtain,  so  as  to  screen  her  form,  she  stayed  at  th© 
window  imtil  the  two  horsemen  had  ridden  up  to  the  walls.  But  the 
darkness  outside,  still  impenetrable  except  when  the  hghtning  played^ 
prevented  observation;  and  she  only  knew  by  the  sound  of  their 
horses'  hoofs,  that  they  had  passed  under  her  window  towards  th« 
rear  of  the  mansion,  and  entered  the  courtyard,  whose  heavy  gate  she 
could  hear  closing  behind  them. 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  did  she  consent  to  surrender  herself  to  that 
god  puissant  as  love  itself;  and,  gently  extending  her  white  limbs 
alongside  those  of  Lora,  she  entered  upon  the  enjoyment  of  a  slum- 
ber, perhaps  not  ao  innocent  as  that  of  her  unconscious  cousin,  but 
equally  profousad. 

Little  did  Scarthe  suspect,  that  the  snow-white  vision  so  suddenly 
feding  from  his  view,  was  the  real  form  of  that  splendid  woman,  now 
weirdly  woven  around  his  heart.  Had  he  suspected  i<,  he  would 
scarce  have  retired  to  his  couch ;  which  he  did  with  embiti  ered  spirits, 
and  a  vile  vow,  instead  of  a  prayer,  passing  from  his  l.ps.  It  was 
but  the  repetition  of  that  vow,  long  since  conceived,  to  win  Marion 
Wade,  to  win  and  wed  her,  by  fair  means  or  by  foul. 

He  resought  his  couch,  but  not  with  the  intention  of  going  to  sleep. 

With  a  brain,  so  fearfully  excited,  he  could  not  hope  to  procurt 
repose. 

Neither  did  he  wish  it.  He  had  not  even  undressed  himself;  and 
h's  object  ui  stretching  his  limbs  upon  a  bed,  was  that  he  might  the 
more  effectually  concentrate  his  thoughts  upon  his  scheme  of  villainy. 

In  his  homeward  ride  he  had  already  traced  out  his  course  of  im- 
mediate action;  which  in  its  main  features  comprehended  the  arrest 
of  Henry  Holtspur,  and  sending  him  under  guard  to  the  Tower  oi 
London.  It  was  only  the  minor  details  of  this  preliminary 
tj^t  now  occupied  his  inind. 


226 

Before  parting  with  his  subaltern,  he  had  given  orders  for  thirty  ol 
his  troopers  to  be  ready  to  take  saddle  a  little  before  daybreak ;  thi 
order  being  accompanied  by  cautionary  injunctions — that  the  men 
were  to  be  aroused  from  their  slumbers  without  any  noise  to  disturl 
the  tranquillity  of  the  mansion — that  they  were  to  "  boot  and  sa  Idle  *' 
without  the  usual  signal  of  the  bugle ;  in  short,  that  they  were  to  got 
ready  for  the  route  with  as  much  secrecy  and  silence  as  poss :bl-3. 

There  would  be  just  time  for  the  cornet  to  have  these  commaiids 
executed ;  and,  knowing  the  necessity  of  obedience  to  his  supeiior, 
Stubbs  had  promptly  proceeded  to  enforce  them. 

One  by  one  the  men  were  awakened  with  all  the  secrecy  enjoined  i  i 
the  order ;  the  horses  were  saddled  in  silence ;  and  a  troop  of  thirtj 
eoirassiers,  armed  cap-a-piedy  ready  to  mount,  stood  in  the  church- 
yard, just  as  the  first  streak  of  grey  light — denoting  the  approach  ol 
dawn — became  visible  above  the  eastern  horizon. 

Meanwhile  Scarthe,  stretched  along  his  couch,  had  been  maturing 
his  plan.  He  had  but  little  apprehension  of  failure.  It  was  scarcely 
probable  that  his  enemy  could  escape  capture.  So  adroitly  had  he 
managed  the  matter  of  the  espionage,  that  Henry  Holtspur  could 
have  no  suspicion  of  what  had  occurred. 

Scarthe  had  been  sufficiently  familiar  with  Walford  and  his  wayi, 
to  know  that  this  traitor  would  be  true  to  the  instincts  of  jealousy 
and  vengeance.  There  was  no  fear  that  Holtspur  would  receive 
warning  from  the  woodman ;  and  from  whom  else  could  he  have  it  ? 
No  one. 

The  arrest  would  be  simple  and  easy.  It  would  be  only  necessary 
to  surround  the  house,  cut  off  every  loophole  of  escape,  and  capture 
the  conspirator — ^in  all  probability  in  his  bed.  After  that  the  Tower 
— ^then  the  Star  Chamber ;  and  Scarthe  knew  enough  of  this  iniquit- 
ous tribunal,  to  feel  sure  that  the  sentence  it  would  pass  would  for- 
ever rid  not  only  Walford,  but  himself,  of  a  hated  rival.  It  would 
also  disembarass  the  king  of  a  dangerous  enemy ;  though  of  all  the 
motives,  inspiring  Scarthe  to  the  act,  this  was  perhaps  the  weakest 

His  hostihty  for  Holtspur — ^though  of  quick  and  recent  growth — 
was  as  deeply  rooted,  as  if  it  had  existed  for  years.  To  be  defeated 
in  the  eyes  of  a  multitude — struck  down  from  his  horse — compelled 
to  cry  "  quarter  " — he,  Richard  Scarthe,  captain  of  the  king's  cuir- 
assiers— a  preux  chevalier — a  noted  champion  of  the  duello — thii 
circumstance  was  of  itself  sufficient  to  inspire  him  with  an  implac- 
|ble  hostility  towards  Jjif  gMC<;^§^f^l  antagonist.    Fst  19  8«ffer  thm 


22? 

humiliation  in  tke  presence  of  high-born  women — under  iL^  eye  of 
one  whom  he  now  loved  with  a  fierce,  lustful  passion — worse  still; 
one  whom  he  had  reason  to  believe  was  lovingly  inclined  towards  hia 
adversary — all  this  had  embittered  his  heart  with  more  than  a 
common  hatred;  and  filled  his  bosom  with  a  wild  yearning  for  mora 
than  a  common  vengeance. 

It  was  in  planning  this,  that  he  passed  the  interval  upon  his  couch ; 
and  his  actions,  at  the  end  of  the  time  along  with  his  muttered 
irords,  proved  that  he  had  succeeded  in  devising  a  sure  scheme  of 
retaliation. 

"By  heavens!  **  he  exclaimed  aloud,  springing  to  his  feet,  and 
measuring  the  floor  of  his  chamber  with  quick,  nervous  strides ;  "  it 
will  be  a  sweet  revenge  !  She  shall  look  upon  him  in  his  hour  ol 
humiliation.  Stripped  of  his  fine  feathers,  shall  he  appear  under 
her  window,  under  her  aristocratic  eyes — a  prisoner — helpless,  bayed 
and  browbeaten.    Ha !  ha !  ha  !  " 

The  exulting  laugh  told  how  pleasant  was  his  anticipation  of  the 
spectacle  his  fancy  had  conjured  up. 

**  Shall  he  wear  the  white  gauntlet  in  his  beaver  ?  "  he  continued, 
pondering  over  new  modes  of  humiliating  his  adversary,  "  There 
would  be  something  sweet  in  such  a  subUme  mockery  ?  No ;  better 
not — he  will  appear  more  ridiculous  with  his  head  bare — ^bound  like 
a  felon!    Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Again  he  gave  way,  unchecked,  to  his  exultant  laiigh,  tiU  the  room 
rang  with  his  fierce  cachinnations. 

"Zounds!"  exclaimed  he,  after  an  interval,  during  which  the 
shadow  of  some  doubt  had  stolen  over  his  face.  "  If  she  should 
smile  upon  him  in  that  hour,  then  my  triumph  would  be  changed  to 
chagrin !     Oh !  under  her  smile  he  would  be  happier  than  I." 

"  Aha  ! "  he  ejaculated,  after  another  pause,  in  which  he  appeared 
to  have  conceived  a  thought  that  chased  away  the  shadow.  "  Aha ! 
I  have  it  now.  She  shall  not  smile.  I  shall  take  precautions 
against  it.  Phoebus !  what  a  splendid  conception !  He  shall  appear 
before  her,  not  bare-headed,  but  with  beaver  on — bedecked  with  a 
bunch  of  flowers !  " 

"  Let  me  see !  What  sort  were  those  the  ^rl  gave  him !  Red,  il 
I  remember  aright — ragged  robin  corn,  poppies ;  or  something  ^^ 
the  kind.  No  matter  about  that,  so  long  as  the  color  be  in 
correspondence.  In  the  distance,  Marion  could  scarcely  have  dis- 
tinguished the  speciefi     A  little  faded,  too,  they  must  be :  as  if  kept 


Bince  the  day  6f  the  fete.  Shi  will  never  suspect  Ihe  rUH,  If  sbi 
smile,  after  beholding  the  flowers,  then  shall  I  know  that  there  is 
nothing  between  them.  A  world  to  see  her  smile !  To  see  her  do 
the  very  thing,  which  but  an  instant  ago,  I  fancied  would  have  filled 
me  with  chagrin !  '* 

"  Ho ! "  he  again  ejaculated,  in  a  tone  of  increasing  triumph. 
Another  splendid  conception!  My  brain,  so  damnably  dull  aU 
through  the  night,  brightens  with  the  coming  day.  As  our  French 
queen  is  accustomed  to  exclaim,  'une  pensee  magnijique  !\  'Twill  be 
ft  homethrust  for  Holtspur.  If  he  loves  fier — and  who  can  doubt  it 
— ^then  shall  his  heart  be  wrung,  as  he  has  wrung  mine.  Ha,  ha  ! 
7*he  right  hand  glove  shall  triumph  over  the  left  I " 

As  Scarthe  said  this,  he  strode  towards  the  table  on  which  lay  his 
helmet;  and,  taking  from  the  breast  of  his  doublet  the  gauntlet  of 
Maiion  Wade^the  one  she  had  really  lost — he  tied  it  with  a  piece 
of  ribbon  to  the  crest— just  under  the  panache  of  plumes. 

**  Something  for  him  to  speculate  upon,  while  inside  the  walls  of 
his  prison !  Something  to  kill  time,  when  he  is  awake ;  and  dream 
of  when  asleep!  Ha !  ha !  A  sweet  revenge  'twill  be — one  worthy 
the  craft  of  an  inquisitor !  ** 

A  footstep  coming  along  the  corridor  put  »  stop  to  his  changing 
■oliloquy. 

It  was  the  footstep  of  Stubbs ;  and  in  the  next  instant,  the  flat 
&ce  of  the  cornet  presented  itself  in  the  half-opened  door. 

"Thirty  in  armor,  captain,  ready  for  the  road,"  was  the  announce- 
ment of  the  subaltern. 

"  And  I  am  ready  to  head  them,**  answered  his  superior  officer 
Betting  his  helmet  firmly  on  his  head,  and  striding  towards  the  door; 
•*  thirty  will  be  more  than  we  need.  After  all,  'tis  best  to  make 
Bure.  We  don*t  want  the  fox  to  steal  away  from  his  cover ;  and  he 
might  do  so,  if  the  earths  be  not  properly  stopped.  We're  pretty 
sure  to  find  him  in  his  swaddling  clothes  at  this  hour.  Ha  !  ha ! 
ha !  What  a  ludicrous  figure  our  fine  cavalier  will  cut  in  his  night- 
cap!   Won't  he,  Stubbs!" 

"Oughtto,by  Ged!** 

And  with  this  gleeful  anticipation,  Scarthe,  followed  by  his  sub 
altem,  stepped  lightly  along  the  passage  leading  towards  the  court- 
yard, where  thirty  troopers,  armed  cap-a-pied,  each  standing  on  tht 
near  side  of  his  steed  awaited  the  order  to  spring  into  their  saddles. 

In  two  aeoond's  time  the  "  Moimt  and  forward !  '*  was  given ;  no^ 


by  signal-call  of  the  sugle,  but  by  word  of  command,  somewhat 
quietlj  pronounced.  Then,  with  captain  and  cornet  at  its  head,  the 
troop,  by  twos,  filed  out  through  the  arched  entrance,  directing 
their  march  towards  the  gateway  that  opened  upon  the  Oxford  road, 
treading  in  the  direction  of  Beaconsfield. 

It  was  by  this  same  entrance  the  two  oflScers  had  come  in  only  a 
Bhort  while  before.  They  saw  the  hoof-prints  of  their  horses  in  the 
dust,  still  saturated  with  the  rain  that  had  fallen.  They  saw  also 
the  track  of  a  third  steed,  that  had  been  traveling  the  same  direction, 
towards  the  house. 

They  found  the  gate  closed.  They  had  left  it  open.  Some  less 
n^Ugent  person  had  entered  the  park  after  them. 

*' Oar  host  has  got  safe  home! '' whispered  Scarth«  to  hi« 
snbaltem. 

**  So  much  the  better,"  he  added,  with  a  significant  smile,  **  I  don*t 
want  to  capture  him,  at  least,  not  now;  and  if  I  can  make  a  captivi 
^f  his  daughter,  not  at  all.  If  I  succeed  not  in  that,  why  then — then 
— I  fear  Sir  Marmaduke  will  have  to  accept  the  hospitality  of  hia 
majesty;  and  abide  some  time  under  the  roof  of  that  royal  mansion 
that  lies  eastward  of  Cheap,  erst  honored  by  the  residence  of  so 
many  distinguished  gentlemen.    Ha  !  ha ;  ha !  " 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  jocular  allusion  to  the  Tower,  h« 
passed  through  the  park  gate ;  and  at  the  head  of  his  troopers  con- 
tinued briskly,  but  silently,  along  the  king's  highway. 

On  went  the  glittering  phalanx — ^winding  up  the  road  like  serat 
destroying  serpent  on  its  way  to  wickedness — the  pattering  of  theif 
horses'  feet,  and  the  occasional  clink  of  steel  scabbards,  striking 
against  stirrups  and  cuisses,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  upon 
the  still  air  of  the  morning — ^to  proclaim  the  passage  of  anned  and 
■Mrantad 


MO  oBioLE  susiioicma. 


CHAPTER  XXXVn 


OBIOLB  suspioioirs. 


Shortly  after  the  spies  had  taken  their  departure  from  Stono  Dean, 
the  conspirators  might  have  been  seen,  emerging  from  the  house, 
mounting  their  horses,  and  riding  off.  They  went,  much  after  th« 
fashion  in  which  they  had  come — ^in  silence,  alone,  or  in  small  groups ; 
and,  after  clearing  the  gate  entrance,  along  different  roads.  Soma 
half-dozen  stayed  later  than  the  rest;  but  before  daylight  could 
have  disclosed  their  identity,  these  had  also  bidden  adieu  to  Stone 
Dean ;  and  were  journeying  far  beyond  the  precmcts  of  its  secluded 
park. 

When  the  last  guests  had  gone,  two  of  Holtspur's  improvised 
grooms,  for  whose  services  there  was  no  further  occasion,  also  took 
their  departure  from  the  place.  There  remained  only  three  individu- 
als in  the  old  mansion,  its  owner,  his  Indian  attendant,  and  Gregory 
Garth. 

Of  these,  the  last  mentioned,  and  only  he,  had  yielded  his  spirit 
to  the  embrace  of  the  drowsy  god. 

On  perceiving  that  his  services  as  stable-helper  were  no  longer  in  re- 
quisition, the  ex-footpad,  having  no  other  lodging  to  which  he  might 
betake  himself,  had  stretched  his  tired  limbs  along  the  beechwood 
bench ;  which,  as  on  a  former  occasion,  he  had  drawn  up  close  to  the 
kitchen  fire.  In  five  minutes  after,  not  only  the  ample  kitchen  itself, 
but  the  contiguous  apartments  of  pantry  and  washhouse,  with  the 
Tarious  passages  between,  were  resonant  of  his  snores. 

Holtspur  was  still  in  the  apartment  in  which  the  meeting  had  been 
held — ^the  library  it  was — where,  seated  in  front  of  a  writing  table, 
with  pen  in  hand,  he  appeared  to  busy  himself  in  the  composition  of 
•ome  document  of  more  than  ordinary  importance. 

Oriole  was  the  only  one  of  the  household  who  seemed  to  have  np 
occupation;  since  he  was  neither  sleeping  nor  acting. 

He  was  not  inside  the  house,  nor  yet  outside,  but  part  of  both ; 
•ince  he  stood  in  the  doorway,  on  the  top  step  of  the  front  entrance 
^the  door  being  still  open. 


OEIOLE    8U8PIOIOU8.  231 

He  was  in  the  habitual  attitiide  of  perfect  repose^silent  and 
statuesque.  This  he  had  maintained  for  some  length  of  time,  having 
lingered,  vaguely  gazing  after  the  last  guest  who  had  gone  away — or 
rather,  the  two  woodmen,  Walford  and  Dancey,  for  they  had  been 
the  latest  to  take  then*  departure. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  what  may  have  been  occupying  the  thoughts 
of  the  young  savage.  Perhaps  they  were  dwelling  upon  scenes  of 
the  past — memories  of  his  forest  home,  thousands  of  miles  away— 
memories  of  his  early  years — of  his  tawny  companions,  and  their 
sports — memories,  perhaps,  more  tender  of  sister  or  mother? 
Whether  or  no,  they  stirred  him  not  from  his  silent  attitude ;  and  for 
a  long  half  hour,  he  remained  motionless,  wrapped  in  speechless 
reverie. 

It  was  only  on  seeing  the  first  streaks  of  the  dawn,  stealing  over 
the  beech-clad  crests  of  the  hills,  that  he  began  to  arouse  himself; 
and  then  only  in  his  eyes  were  exhibited  signs  of  activity. 

These,  instead  of  being  directed  towards  the  sky,  were  turned 
towards  the  ground — scrutinizing  a  space  in  front  of  the  doorstep, 
where  the  close  crowding  of  hoof-prints  told  of  the  many  horsemen 
who  had  late  made  their  departure  from  the  place. 

For  some  time  the  Indian  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  without 
exhibiting  any  apparent  interest  in  the  tracks.  And  yet  he  appear- 
ed to  be  tracing  them ;  perhaps  only  in  obedience  to  habit  learnt,  and 
indulged  in,  from  earliest  childhood. 

After  a  while  his  glance  wandered  to  a  wider  range ;  and  some- 
thing, observed  at  a  few  paces'  distance,  appeared  more  seriously  to 
engage  his  attention. 

His  statuesque  attitude  became  at  once  disarranged ;  and,  gliding 
down  from  the  steps,  he  walked  rapidly  along  the  graveled  walk 
leading  to  the  left  side  of  the  house. 

On  arriving  at  the  angle  of  the  wall,  he  stepped  downward,  as  if 
to  examine  some  object  at  his  feet. 

After  remaining  motionless  for  a  few  seconds,  he  continued  on,  still 
with  body  bent,  towards  the  back  part  of  the  dwelling. 

He  proceeded  slowly,  but  without  making  a  stop,  till  he  had  arriv- 
ed near  the  rear  of  the  mansion.  There  a  narrow  doorway,  opening 
into  the  eastern  wing,  was  before  his  eyes ;  and  into  this  he  stood' 
gazing,  evidently  in  some  surprise.  It  could  not  be  at  seeing  th« 
door,  for  he  knew  of  it  already.  1l«  was  its  being  opened  that  elici' 
M  that  look  of  astonishment. 


During  his  stay  at  Stone  Dean  he  had  never  known  that  side  d^of 
to  be  otherwise  than  shut ;  and  locked  too.  As  there  was  only  him- 
self;  and  his  master,  who  had  tke  right  to  unlock  it,  he  was  naturally 
surprised  at  finding  it  ajar. 

He  might  not  have  heeded  the  circumstance  but  for  another,  that 
seemed  to  connect  itself  with  the  open  door.  He  had  observed  the 
footprints  of  two  men,  plainly  impressed  in  the  damp  dust.  They 
ran  all  along  the  wall,  parallel  to,  and  a  few  paces  from  it.  Near  th€ 
angle  of  the  building,  they  were  joined  by  a  third  set  of  footmarks ; 
and  from  that  point  the  three  proceeded  together  till  lost  among  the 
horse-tracks  around  the  entrance  in  front. 

It  was  these  footmarks  that  had  first  attracted  the  Indian  from  his 
stand  upon  the  steps ;  and,  in  tracing  them,  he  had  been  conducted 
to  the  side  doorway. 

To  examine  the  tracks,  either  of  man  or  animal,  and  wherever 
seen,  is  a  habit — ^indeed  almost  an  instinct — with  an  Indian ;  and 
ruled  by  this  peculiarity  of  his  people.  Oriole  had  hastened  to 
scrutinize  the  "sign." 

The  act  was  not  altogether  unaccompanied  by  a  process  of  ratio* 
dnation.  Slightly  as  he  understood  the  bearings  of  those  political 
schemes,  in  which  his  master  was  engaged,  the  faithful  follower  knew 
that  there  was  reason  for  secrecy,  as  well  as  suspicion  in  regard  to 
the  men,  with  whom  he  was  brought  in  contact.  It  was  some  vague 
thought  of  this  kind  that  had  caused  him  to  take  notice  of  ths 
tracks. 

He  remembered  having  conducted  all  the  gentlemen  outward  by 
the  front  door,  on  their  departure,  as  he  had  conducted  them  inward 
on  their  arrival.  He  remembered  that  aU  had  ridden  directly  away. 
Which  of  them,  then,  had  gone  round  to  the  rear  of  the  building, 
without  his  having  observed  them  ? 

There  were  three  distinct  sets  of  footprints,  not  going  towards  th« 
back,  but  returning  towards  the  front.  One  set  had  been  made  by 
hob-nailed  shoes.  These  might  be  the  tracks  of  the  three  helpers ; 
but  the  other  two  were  those  of  gentlemen. 

Almost  intuitively  had  the  Indian  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  wtieii 
his  analysis  was  interrupted  by  seeing  the  side-door  standing  open— 
a  circumstance  which  strengthened  his  incipient  suspicion  that  there 
was  something  im  the  "sign." 

Without  waiting  to  examine  the  tracks  any  further,  he  ghded 
forward  to  the  doorway ;  and,  stepping  inside,  traversed  the  narrow 


OttTOLIS  Bttsptototnl.  t^ 

^tflsage  wUeli  conaucted  to  the  antechamber — where  Scarthe  and  h4 
eomet  had  so  silently  assisted  at  the  ceremony  of  the  noctumiJ' 
Assemblage. 

The  keen  eye  of  the  American  aboriginal — even  under  the  sombrt 
light  of  the  unused  apartment — at  once  detected  evidences  of  its  late 
occupancy.  The  unshut  doors  afforded  this :  but  the  deep  dust,  that 
for  years  had  been  accumulating  on  the  floors,  showed  trsces  ol 
having  been  recently  stirred  by  shuffling  feet — leaving  no  doubt  in 
the  mind  of  Oriole,  that  men  had  been  in  that  room ;  and  had  gon« 
out  of  it,  only  an  hour  ar  two  before. 

The  disturbed  spider  webs  upon  the  glazed  partition  did  not  escape 
his  observation :  nor  the  little  spot  upon  the  pane  of  glass  that  had 
been  rubbed  cleaji. 

Oriole  placed  his  eye  to  it.  He  could  see  the  whole  of  the  apart- 
ment, late  occupied  by  his  master's  guests.  He  could  see  that 
master,  now  alone — seated  before  his  writing  table — ^utterly  uncon- 
gdous  of  being  observed. 

The  Indian  was  about  to  tap  upon  the  glass,  and  communicate  th« 
discovery  he  had  made ;  but,  remembering  his  own  misfortune,  and 
that  he  could  only  speak  by  signs,  he  glided  back  through  the  passage, 
vith  the  intention  of  reaching  the  library  by  the  front  entrance. 

Daylight  had  come  down — sufficiently  clear  to  enable  him  to  make 
A  scrutiny  of  the  tracks  with  more  exactness ;  and  he  lingered 
Awhile  retracing  them — in  the  hope  of  finding  some  solution  of  the 
mystery  of  their  existence.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen ;  but  the  red 
rays  of  the  aurora  already  encrimsoned  the  crests  of  the  surrounding 
ridges,  tinting  also  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees  that  overhung  the  old 
dwelling  of  Stone  Dean.  The  light,  falling  upon  the  roosts  of  the 
rooks,  had  set  the  birds  astart,  and  caused  them  to  commence  the 
utterance  of  their  cheerful  cawing. 

Whether  it  was  the  clamor  of  the  crows,  or  the  rustling  of  the 
riotous  rats — as  they  chased  one  another  along  the  empty  shelves, 
ftnd  behind  the  decayed  wainscoting  of  the  old  kitchen — or  whether 
tlie  circumstance  was  due  to  some  other,  and  less  explicable  causes, 
certain  it  is  that  the  slumbers  of  Gregory  Garth  were  at  this  crisia 
interrupted. 

His  snoring  suddenly  came  to  a  termination ;  and  he  awoke  with  a 
•tart. 

It  was  a  start,  moreover,  that  led  to  a  more  serious  disturbance : 
for,  having  destroyed  his  equilibrium  on  the  beech-wood  bench-- 


1^34  ORIOLE   SUSPI'^tOOS, 

which  chanced  to  be  of  somewhat  slender  dimensions— his  body  caim 
down  upon  the  hard  stone  flags  of  the  floor,  with  a  concussion,  thai 
for  several  seconds  completely  deprived  him  of  breath. 

On  recovering  his  wind,  and  along  with  it  his  senses,  which  had  for  a 
while  remained  in  a  state  of  obfuscation,  the  ex- footpad  soon  com- 
prehended the  nature  of  the  mishap  that  had  befallen  him. 

But  the  unpleasant  tumble  upon  the  flagged  floor  had  cured  him  of 
all  inclination  to  return  to  his  treacherous  couch;  and,  instead,  he 
strolled  out  into  the  open  air  to  consult  the  sun,  his  imfailing  monitor, 
as  to  the  time  of  day. 

Only  the  morning  before,  Gregory  had  been  the  proprietor  of  a 
watch,  whether  honestly  so  need  not  be  said ;  but  this  time-piece 
was  now  ticking  within  the  pigeon-hole  depository  of  an  Uxbridga 
pawnbroker ;  and  the  duplicate  which  the  ex-footpad  carried  in  hia 
fob  could  give  him  no  information  about  the  hour. 

In  reality  he  had  not  been  asleep  more  than  twenty  minutes;  but 
his  dreams,  drawn  from  a  wide  range  of  actual  experiences,  led  him 
to  believe  that  he  had  been  slumbering  for  a  much  longer  time. 

He  was  rather  surprised,  though  not  too  well  pleased,  when,  on 
reaching  the  door,  and  "  squinting ''  outside,  he  perceived  by  the  sky 
that  it  was  still  only  the  earliest  hour  of  the  day ;  and  that,  after  all 
his  dreaming,  he  had  not  had  the  advantage  of  over  half  an  hour's 
sleep. 

He  was  contemplating  a  return  to  his  bench-bedstead ;  when,  on 
casting  a  stray  glance  outwards,  his  eye  fell  on  the  figure  of  a  man 
moving  slowly  around  one  of  the  angles  of  the  mansion.  He  saw  it 
was  Oriole. 

As  Gregory  knew  that  Oriole  was  the  proper  butler  of  the  estab- 
lishment, or  at  all  events  carried  the  key  of  the  wine  cellar,  it  occured 
to  him  that,  through  the  intervention  of  the  Indian,  he  might  obtain 
a  morning  dram,  to  refresh  him  after  his  uneasy  slumber. 

He  was  proceeding  outside,  intending  to  make  known  his  wish, 
when  he  perceived  that  Oriole  was  engaged  in  a  peculiar  occupation 
With  his  body  half  bent,  and  his  eyes  keenly  scrutinizing  the  ground, 
the  Indian  was  moving  slowly  along  the  side  :f  the  house,  parallel  to 
the  direction  of  the  wall. 

Seeing  this  strange  action.  Garth  did  not  attempt  to  interrupt  it ; 
but,  taking  his  stand  by  the  angle  of  the  building,  watched  the  raoTe- 
ment. 

Somewhat  to  the  surprise  of  the  footpad,  he  saw  the  redskin  crouch 
cautiously  forward  to  a  door,  which  stood  open ;  and,  with  all  tht 


OBIOLE   SUSPICIOUS. 

iil«it  stealth,  that  mi^M  have  been  obseryed  :y  the  most  accom 
plished  cracksman.  Garth  saw  him  creep  inside — as  if  afraid  of  being 
detected  in  the  act ! 

"Humph! "  muttered  Gregory,  with  a  portentous  shake  of  his 
shaggy  occiput :  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Master  Henry  ha'  got  a 
treetor  in  his  own  eamp.  What  he  be  about,  I  shud  hke  to  know — 
a  goodish  bit  I  shud  like  it.  Can't  be  wittles,  or  drink,  the  dummy's 
arter  ?  No — can't  a  be  ney ther :  seein'  he  ha  got  charge  o'  the  keys, 
an'  may  cram  his  gut,  whensomever  he  pleezes.  It  be  somethin'  o* 
more  concarn  than  eatin'  or  drinkin'.  That  be  it,  surish.  But  what 
the  Ole  Scratch  km  it  be  ?  " 

As  Gregory  put  this  last  interrogatory,  he  inserted  his  thick, 
knotty  digits  into  the  mazes  of  his  matted  mop,  and  commenced 
pulling  the  hair  over  his  forehead,  as  if  by  that  means  to  eUcit  an 
Answer. 

After  tossing  his  coarse  curly  locks  into  a  state  of  woolly  frowsi- 
ness,  he  seemed  to  have  arrived  no  nearer  to  an  elucidation  of  the 
Indian's  mysterious  conduct,  as  was  evinced  by  another  string  of 
muttered  interrogatories  that  proceeded  from  his  lips. 

"Be  the  red-skin  a  playin'  spy  ?  Thej  be  ticklish  times  for  Mas- 
ter Henry,  I  knows  that.  But  surely  a  tongueless  Indyen  lad,  as 
ha*  followed  him  from  tother  side  o'  the  world,  an'  been  faithful  to 
him  most  the  whole  o'  his  life — he  ha'  told  me  so — surely  sich  a 
thing  as  that  an't  goin'  to  turn  treetor  to  him  now  ?  Beside,  what 
can  a  Indyen  know  o'  our  polyticks  ?  A  spy, — pish !  It  can't  be 
that !  It  may  be  a  bit  o'  stealin'.  That's  more  likelyish,  but  what 
somdever  it  do  be,  heear  go  to  find  out." 

Garth  was  about  moving  towards  the  side  door,  into  which 
Oriole  had  made  his  stealthy  entrance,  when  he  saw  the  latter 
coming  out  again. 

As  the  Indian  was  seen  to  return  towards  the  front  in  the  same 
cautious  manner  in  which  he  had  gone  from  it,  that  is,  with  the  body 
stooped  and  eyes  eagerly  scrutinizing  the  path.  Garth  also  turned  his 
glance  towards  the  ground. 

Though  no  match  for  the  American  in  reading  the  "sign'* — either 
of  the  heavens  or  the  earth — the  ex-footpad  was  not  altogether  nvt 
practiced  in  the  translating  of  tracks. 

It  had  been  long— alas !  too  long— a  branch  of  his  peculiar  calling, 
ud  the  footpad's  experience  now  enabled  him  to  perceive  that  suck, 
was  th^  QQCupation  in  wUich  QricI^  if  as  engaj^dU 


8S« 

H©  saw  the  footprints  which  the  Indian  was  following  ap,-~nol 
now  as  before  in  a  backward  direction,  but  in  that  oy  which  thej 
who  had  made  them  must  have  gone.  All  at  once  a  new  light  flashed 
into  the  brain  of  the  retired  robber.  He  no  longer  suspected  tb« 
Indian  of  being  a  spy,  but  on  the  contrary  perceived  that  he  was  in 
the  act  of  tracking  some  individual  or  individuals  more  amenable  to 
this  suspicion.  He  remembered  certain  circumstances  that  had 
transpired  during  the  night ;  odd  expressions  and  actions  that  had 
signalized  the  behavior  of  his  fellow  helper,  Walford.  He  had  re- 
marked the  absence  of  the  latter  at  a  particular  time ;  and  also  on 
the  occasion  of  Walford's  taking  two  horses  from  the  stable — the 
first  led  out— that  he  had  used  some  arguments  to  dissuade  both 
Dancey  and  himself  from  giving  him  assistance. 

Garth  supposed  at  the  time  that  Walford  had  been  actuated  simply 
by  a  desire  to  secure  the  perquisites,  but  now  that  he  looked  upon 
the  tracks — ^which  Oriole  was  in  the  act  of  scrutinizing — a  new 
thought  rushed  into  his  mind ;  a  suspicion  that  during  that  eventful 
night,  treason  had  been  stalking  around  the  dwelling  of  Stone 
Dean. 

Excited  by  this  thought,  the  ex-footpad  threw  himself  alongside 
the  Indian,  and  endeavored  by  signs  to  convey  the  intelligence  he  had 
obtained  by  conjecture — as  well  as  to  possess  himself  of  that  which 
the  red-skin  might  have  arrived  at  by  some  more  trustworthy  process 
of  reasoning. 

Unfortunately,  Gregory  Garth  was  but  a  poor  pantomimist.  His 
grimaces  and  gestures  were  rather  ludicrous,  than  explanatory  of  his 
thoughts ;  so  much  so,  that  the  Indian,  after  vainly  endeavoring  to 
comprehend  them,  answered  with  an  ambiguous  shake  of  the  head. 

Then  gliding  silently  past,  he  ascended  the  steps  and  hurried  oq 
towards  the  apartment — ^in  which  he  proposed  to  hold  more  xaUl^ 
Jigible  eommxmion  with  his  mastor. 


m 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 


OV  fHl  TAAIU 


On  the  departure  of  his  fellow  conspirators — patriot!  we  shcniM 
rather  call  them — Holtspur,  as  we  have  already  said,  had  passed  the 
swnainder  of  night  engaged  at  his  writing-table. 

The  time  was  spent  in  the  performance  of  a  duty  entrusted  to  him 
by  his  friends,  Pym  and  Hampden,  with  whom  and  a  few  others  he 
had  held  secret  conference  beyond  the  hours  allotted  to  the  more 
public  business  of  the  meeting.  It  was  a  duty  no  less  important 
than  the  drawing  up  of  a  charge  of  attainder  against  Thomas  "Went- 
worth,  Earl  of  Strafford. 

It  was  one  which  Holtspur  could  perform  with  all  the  ardor  of  m 
lealous  enthusiasm — springing  from  his  natural  indignation  against 
this  gigantic  wrong-doer. 

A  true  hater  of  kings,  he  felt  triumphant.  His  republican  senti- 
ments, uttered  in  the  assembly  just  separated — so  loudly  applauded 
by  those  who  listened  to  them— could  not  fail  to  find  echo  in  every 
honest  English  heart ;  and  the  patriot  felt  that  the  time  was  nigh 
when  such  sentiments  need  be  no  longer  spoken  in  the  eonclave  of  a 
secret  conference,  but  boldly  and  openly  in  the  tribune  of  a  nation. 

The  king  had  been  once  more  compelled  to  call  his  "  Commons  ** 
together.  In  a  few  days  the  Parliament  was  to  meet — that  splendid 
Parliament  afterwards  known  as  the  "  Long  " — and  from  the  election 
returns  already  received,  Holtspur  knew  the  character  of  most  of  the 
statesmen  who  were  to  compose  it.  With  such  men  as  Pym  and 
Bampden  at  its  head — with  Holies,  Hazlerig,  Vane,  Martin,  Crom- 
well and  a  host  of  other  popular  patriots  taking  part  in  its  councils — 
it  would  be  strange  If  something  should  not  be  effected  to  stem  the 
tide  of  tyranny,  so  long  flowing  over  the  land — submerging  under  ita 
Infamous  waves  every  landmark  of  English  liberty. 

Swayed  by  thoughts  like  these  did  Henry  Holtspur  enter  upon  the 
task  assigned  him. 

For  over  an  hour  had  he  been  occupied  with  its  performance — ^with 
Kayrc^  ^  x|^9pi^«at*«  fetermission;  and  then  only  Tfben  the  soft  dreanf 


238  ON  THE  TKAXL. 

of  loYe^  stealing  over  his  spirit,  chased  from  it  the  sterner  thoughts 
of  statecraft  and  war,  which  had  been  the  habitual  themes  of  hu 
later  life. 

He  had  woU  nigh  finished  his  work  when  interrupted  by  th< 
entrance  of  the  Indian. 

"  Eh,  Oriole  ?  "  demanded  he  in  some  surprise,  as,  glandng  op 
from  his  papers,  he  remarked  the  agitated  mien  of  his  attendant. 
"  Anything  the  matter  ?  You  look  as  if  something  was  amiss.  I 
hope  that  you  and  Garth  have  not  been  quarreling  oyer  your  per* 
quisites  ?  " 

The  Indian  made  a  sign  of  a  negative  to  this  imputation — ^which 
he  knew  was  only  spoken  in  jest. 

"  Nothing  about  him,  then  ?    What  is  it,  my  braye  ?  '* 

This  question  was  answered  by  Oriole  raising  one  of  his  feet — with 
the  sole  turned  upwards — ^at  the  same  time  glancing  to  the  ground 
with  an  angry  ejaculation. 

"  Ha!  **  said  Holtspur,  who  read  those  signs  as  easily  as  if  they 
had  been  a  written  language — "  an  enemy  upon  the  trail  ?  " 

Oriole  held  up  three  of  his  fingers,  pointing  perpendicularly  towards 
the  ceiling  of  the  room. 

"  Three  instead  of  one  !  and  three  men !  Well,  perhaps  they  will 
be  easier  to  deal  with  than  if  it  was  a  ^rto  of  womm.^* 

The  cavalier,  as  he  made  this  half-jesting  remark,  seemed  to  give 
way  for  a  moment  to  some  reflection  altogether  unconnected  with  the 
Intelligence  conveyed  by  his  attendant. 

"  What  is  it,  Oriole  ?  What  have  you  seen  ?  "  asked  he,  returning 
to  the  subject  of  the  Indian's  communication. 

Oriole's  answer  to  this  was  a  sign  for  his  master  to  follow  him. 
At  the  same  time,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  led  the  way  out  of  the 
apartment;  out  of  the  front  door,  and  round  by  the  left  wing  of  tht 
house.  Thither  he  was  followed  by  Holtspur  and  Gregory  Garth, 
when  all  three  commenced  re-examining  the  tracks. 

These  were  again  traced  in  a  backward  direction  to  the  side  door- 
way. 

It  could  not  be  doubted  that  two  of  the  men  who  made  them  had 
Issued  thence.  The  third — he  who  wore  the  hob-nailed  shoes — had 
met  these  on  their  coming  out,  and  afterwards  walked  along  with 
them  to  the  front — where  the  foot-marks  were  lost  among  the  hoof 
prints  of  the  horses. 

There  were  no  tracks  leading  towards  the  side  entrance ;  but  aj 
^«f«  WW  P^  ^^^^  ^^7  ^T  vhich  th»  %^m  O^uW  btvf  h^n  §nter*HJ 


except  by  the  glass  door,  «nd  tliat  had  certainlj  no»  ideen  unclosed^ 
it  was  evident  that  the  two  men  who  had  come  out  by  tho  side  pas* 
sage  must  have  gone  in  by  it. 

Tlie  absence  of  any  foot-marks  leading  inward  had  a  signification 
of  another  kind.  It  proved  ^that  they  who  had  so  intruded  must 
have  passed  inside  before  the  coming  on  of  the  rain-storm,  and  gone 
out  after  it  had  ceased.  In  other  wo:n&a,  two  men  must  have  tenanted 
that  chamber  during  most,  if  not  all  of  the  time  that  the  confer- 
ence continued. 

Other  signs  pointed  out  by  the  Indian — the  disturbance  of  the  dust 
upon  the  floor,  and  the  removal  of  the  cerements  from  the  glass — ^1&^ 
no  doubt  as  to  the  object  of  their  presence  in  the  unused  apartmen 
Spies,  to  a  certainty  ! 

Holtspur's  countenance  became  clouded  as  this  conviction  forced 
itself  upon  him. 

The  hobnails  told  who  was  the  traitor  that  had  guided  them 
thither.  There  were  plenty  of  like  tracks  on  the  other  side  of  the 
house,  leading  to  the  stable-yard.  Oriole  easily  identified  the  foot- 
marks as  made  by  Will  Walford. 

**  It  but  crowns  my  suspicions  of  the  knave,"  said  Holtspnry  M 
with  gloom  upon  his  brow  he  walked  back  into  the  house. 

"  Dang  seize  the  white-livered  loon ! "  cried  the  ex-footpad.  "  He 
shall  answer  for  this  night's  dirty  doin's.  That  shall  be  sureish  ear- 
tain,  or  my  name  arn't  Gregory  Garth." 

On  re-entering  the  library,  Holtspur  did  not  resume  his  seat,  but 
oommenced  pacing  the  floor  with  quick  excited  steps. 

What  had  arisen  was  matter  to  make  him  serious.  Spies  bad 
1>een  present — he  could  not  doubt  it-^and  the  fact  was  full  of  sig- 
nificance. It  concerned  not  only  his  own  safety,  but  thdt  of  many 
•thers — gentlemen  of  rank  and  position  in  the  county,  with  several 
members  of  Parliament  from  other  counties ;  among  them  Pym, 
Hollis,  Hazlerig,  Henry  Martin,  and  the  younger  Sir  Harry  Vane. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  too,  must  have  been  seen  by  the  spies. 

In  regard  to  the  latter,  Holtspur  felt  a  special  apprehension.  It 
was  by  invitation — his  own — that  Sir  Marmaduke  had  been  present 
at  the  meeting ;  and  Holtspur  knew  that  the  knight  would  now  be 
compromised  beyond  redemption — even  to  the  danger  of  losing  hii 
life. 

Whoever  had  occupied  that  antechamber  must  have  overheard  not 
ealy  all  that  had  been  spokeii,  but  have  seen  each  speaker  in  turn; 


BIO 


ON   THE  TRAnA 


in  8b<irt,  every  individuiil  present,  and  under  a  light  clear  enough  U 
have  rendered  sure  their  identification. 

It  needed  very  little  reflection  to  point  out  who  had  been  the  chief 
spy.  The  dispatch  taken  by  Garth  from  the  king's  messenger  ren- 
dered it  easy  to  tell ;  Richard  Scarthe  had  been  in  that  chamber-^ 
either  in  person  or  by  deputy. 

All  this  knowledge  flashed  upon  the  mind  of  the  patriot  conspira- 
tor with  a  distinctness  painfully  vivid. 

Unfortunately,  the  course  proper  for  him  to  pursue  was  far  from 
being  so  clear,  and  for  some  minutes  he  remained  in  a  state  of  inde- 
cision as  to  how  he  should  act. 

With  such  evidence  as  Scarthe  possessed  against  him,  he  felt 
keenly  conscious  of  danger — a  danger  threatening  not  only  his  liberty, 
but  his  life. 

If  taken  before  the  Star  Chamber,  after  what  he  had  that  night 
said  and  done,  he  could  not  expect  any  other  verdict  than  a  convic- 
tion; and  his  would  not  be  the  first  head,  during  that  weak  tyrant'8 
reign,  that  had  tumbled  untimely  from  the  block. 

It  was  of  no  use  upbraiding  himself  with  the  negligence  that  had 
led  to  the  imfortuna^  situation.  Nor  was  there  any  time  to  indulge 
in  self-reproach;  for  the  longer  he  reflected  the  more  proximate 
would  be  the  danger  he  had  to  dread. 

Henry  Holtspur  was  a  man  of  ready  determination.  A  life  partl]^ 
spent  amidst  dangers  of  flood  and  field ;  under  the  shadow  of  prim- 
eval American  forests — on  the  war-path  of  the  hostile  Mohawk — had 
habituated  him  to  the  forming  of  quick  resolves,  and  as  quickly  car- 
rying them  into  execution. 

But  no  man  is  gifted  with  omniscience ;  and  there  are  occasions 
when  the  wisest  in  thought  acd  quickest  in  action  may  be  over- 
taken. 

It  was  so  in  Iloltspur's  case  at  this  particular  crisis ;  he  felt  that 
he  had  been  outwitted.  In  the  fair  field  of  fight  he  had  defeated  an 
adversary,  who,  in  the  dark  diplomacy  of  intrigue,  was  likely  to  tri- 
umph over  him. 

There  was  not  much  time  to  be  lost.  Was  there  any  ?  They  who 
had  made  that  stealthy  visit  to  Stone  Dean  would  be  sure  to  repeat 
it,  and  soon — not  secretly  as  before,  but  openly  and  in  force. 

Why  had  they  not  returned  already  ?  This  was  the  only  question 
that  appeared  difficult  to  answer. 

Whj  tha  arrest  had  not  been  uMuie  at  onoe— a  wholesale  captmni 


ON   THE  TRAIL.  M 

ti  the  conspirators— could  be  more  easily  answered.      The  spiei 
might  not  have  been  prepared  for  a  cmip  so  sudden,  so  extensive. 

But  since  there  had  been  time 

"By  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  cavalier,  suddenly  interrupting  the 
train  of  his  conjectures,  "  there's  no  time  to  be  lost.  I  must  from 
here,  and  at  once.     Garth  ?  " 

"  Master  Ilenry  ?  " 

"  Saddle  my  horse  on  the  instant !     Oriole !  ** 

The  Indian  stood  before  him. 

"  Are  my  pistols  loaded  ?  " 

Oriole  made  signs  in  the  affirmative — pointing  to  the  pistols  thai 
lay  on  the  oaken  mantel-shelf. 

"  Enough !  I  may  need  them  ere  long.  Place  them  in  the  hol- 
sters." 

"And  now,  Oriole,"  continued  his  master,  after  a  reflective  pause, 
and  regarding  his  attendant  with  some  sadness,  "  I  am  going  upon 
a  journey.  I  may  be  absent  for  some  time.  You  cannot  accompany 
me.     You  must  stay  here — ^till  I  either  return  or  send  for  you.'* 

The  Indian  listened,  his  countenance  clouding  over  with  an  expres 
gion  of  disquietude. 

"  Don't  be  down-hearted,  my  brave !  **  pursued  Holtspur.  "  We 
shall  not  be  separated  for  long — no  longer  than  I  can  help." 

Oriole  asked  by  a  gesture  why  he  was  to  be  left  behind ;  adding  in 
a  pantomime  equally  intelligible  to  Holtspur,  that  he  was  ready  to 
follow  him  to  the  death — ^to  die  for  him. 

"  I  know  all  that,  faithful  boy  !  "  responded  his  patron  and  pro 
tectclr,  "  right  well  do  I  know  it :  since  you've  given  proof  of  it  once 
before.  But  your  prowess,  that  might  avail  me  in  the  pathless 
coverts  of  your  native  forest,  and  against  enemies  of  your  own  color, 
would  be  of  little  service  here.  The  foe  I  have  now  to  fear  is  not  a 
naked  savage  with  club  and  tomahawk,  but  a  king  with  sword  and 
sceptre  Ah !  my  brave  Oriole,  your  single  arm  would  be  idle  to 
shield  me  where  a  whole  host  are  to  be  my  adversaries.  Come, 
faithful  friend !  I  lose  time — too  much  have  I  lost  already.  Quick 
with  my  vaUse.  Pack  and  strap  it  to  the  croup.  Put  these  papers 
mto  it.  The  rest  may  remain  as  they  are.  Quick,  good  Oriole ! 
Hubert  should  be  saddled  by  this  time.     Garth,  what  is  it  ?  " 

Garth  stood  in  the  doorway — breathless,  ghastly  pale. 

"  Ho !  what's  that  ?  I  need  not  ask  Too  well  do  I  imderstaxaj 
thoM  sounds." 

u 


**  Lor',  0  lor* !  Master  Henry !  The  houise  be  sarrounded  wf 
horsemen.    They  be  the  kewresseers  from  Bulstrode." 

''  Ha !  Scarthe  has  been  quick  and  cunning.  I'm  too  jate,  1 
fear." 

Saying  this,  the  cayalier  snatched  up  his  pistols — ^at  the  same  timt 
grasping  his  sword — as  if  with  the  intention  of  making  an  attempt 
to  defend  himself. 

The  ex-footpad  also  armed  himself  with  his  terrible  pike,  which 
ehanced  to  be  standing  in  the  hall;  while  Oriole's  weapon  was  a 
tomahawk,  habitually  worn  about  his  p^jrson. 

Drawing  his  blade  from  its  scabbard,  Holtspur  rushed  to  the  front 
entrance — close  followed  by  Garth  and  the  Indian. 

On  reaching  the  door,  which  was  still  standing  open,  the  conspira- 
tor saw  at  a  glance  that  resistance  would  be  worse  than  idle,  smce  it 
could  only  end  in  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life,  and  perhaps  the  Uves 
of  his  faithful  followers. 

In  front  of  the  house  was  ranged  a  row  of  steel-clad  cuirassiers — 
each  with  his  arquebus  ready  to  deliver  its  fire ;  while  the  trampling 
of  hoofs,  the  clanking  of  armor,  and  the  voices  of  men  resounding 
from  the  rear  of  the  dwelling,  told  that  the  circumvallation  was 
complete. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  What  is  your  business  ? "  demanded  Holtspur 
of  one,  who,  from  his  attitude  and  gestures,  appeared  to  act  as  the 
leader ;  but  whose  face  was  hidden  behind  the  closed  visor  of  his 
helmet. 

The  demand  was  mechanical — a  mere  matter  of  form.  He  who 
made  it  knew,  without  the  necessity  of  asking,  to  whom  he  was  ad- 
dressing himself;  as  well  as  the  business  that  had  brought  him 
there. 

He  had  not  encountered  that  cavalier  in  the  field  of  fight— and 
conquered  him,  too — ^without  leaving  a  souvenir  by  which  he  could 
be  recognized. 

And  it  needed  not  the  wounded  arm — still  carried  in  its  sling — to 
enable  Henry  Holtspur  to  recognize  Richard  Scarthe,  his  adversary 
in  the  equestrian  duel. 

Without  such  evidence,  both  horse  and  rider  might  have  been  iden- 
tified. 

<<I  came  not  here  to  ask  idle  questions,"  rephed  Scarthe,  with  a 
Uugh  that  rang  ironically  through  the  bars  of  his  umbril.  "  Tout 
ftnti  I  presume,  needs  no  answer;  and  though  I  shall  b«  OT«r  oov 


M3 

tftous  in  replying  to  your  second,  you  are  welcome  to  the  reaponat 
you  have  challenged.    My  business,  then,  is  to  arrest  a  traitor  !** 

"A  traitor  !     Who:" 

"Henry  Holtspur — a  traitor  to  his  king.'* 

"Coward!"  cried  Holtspur,  returning  scorn  for  scorn;  "thisil 
the  thanks  I  receive  for  sparing  your  paltry  life.  From  your  exten- 
sive entourage  of  steel-clad  hirelings,  it  is  evident  you  fear  a  second 
chastisement  at  my  hands.  Why  did  you  not  bring  a  whole  regimeni 
with  you?    Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  You  are  pleased  to  be  facetious,"  said  Scarthe,  whose  triumphant 
position  facilitated  the  restraining  of  his  temper.  "In  the  end.  Mas- 
ter Holtspur,  you  may  find  it  not  such  matter  for  mirth.  Let  them 
be  merry  who  win.  Laughter  comes  with  but  ill  grace  from  the  lips 
of  those  who  are  about  to  lose;  nay,  have  already  lost " 

"Already  lost?'*  interrupted  Holtspur,  driven  to  the  interrog- 
atory by  the  tone  of  significant  insinuation  in  which  the  other  ha«* 
spoken. 

"Not  your  liberty:  though  that  also  you  have  already  lost.  Not 
your  head:  that  you  may  lose  by-and-by;  but  something  which,  if 
you  are  a  true  cavalier,  should  be  dear  to  you  as  either." 

"What?"  mechanically  inquired  Holtspur,  moved  to  the  inter- 
rogatory, less  by  the  ambiguous  speech  than  by  the  sight  of  an  object 
which  at  that  moment  flashed  before  his  angry  eye.     "  What  ?  ** 

"  Your  mistress ! "  was  the  taunting  reply.  "  Don't  fancy,  my 
pretty  picker  up  of  stray  gloves,  that  you  are  the  only  one  who  re- 
ceives such  sweet  favors.  The  fair  lady  of  the  golden  hair  and  whit© 
gauntlets  may  have  taken  a  fancy  to  dispose  of  a  pair ;  and  where 
two  are  thus  delicately  dispensed,  the  last  given  is  the  one  most 
prized  by  me!" 

As  Scarthe  said  this,  he  raised  his  hand  triumphantly  towards  thi 
peak  of  his  helmet,  where  a  glove  of  white  doe-skin  was  seen  con- 
spicuously set — its  tapering  fingers  turned  forward,  as  if  pointing  in 
derision  at  him  who  possessed  its  fellow. 

Scarthe 's  gesture  was  superfluous.  The  ey^  '  his  adversary  had 
been  already  fixed  upon  the  indicated  obje/  And  the  frown  thai 
suddenly  overspread  his  face  betrayed  a  ^^  .nnge  commingling  of 
emotions;  surprise,  incredulity,  anger;  v  something  more  thai 
its  shve  of  incipient  jealousy. 

Rushed  into  Holtspur 's  mind  at  ih/  aoment  the  recollection  of 
the  t  te-f^tte  he  had  witnessed  aftar  #.s.rtin.g  with   Marion  Wad©-' 


144  OJr  THiB  TRAIL. 

hex  2^romenade  up  the  long  avenue  side  by  side  with  Sc»rth©-*-th*l 
short  but  bitter  moment  when  she  had  appeared  complaisante  ? 

If  he  wronged  her  in  thought  he  did  not  do  so  in  speech. 

His  jealousy  kept  silence ;  his  anger  alone  found  utterance. 

** False  trickster!  "  he  cried,  "  'tis  an  impudent  deception.  She 
never  gave  you  that  glove.  Thou  hast  found  it — stolen  it  more 
likely ;  and  by  heaven !  I  shall  take  it  from  thee  and  restore  it  to  its 
slandered  owner — even  here,  in  spite  of  your  myrmidons  !  Yield  it 
up,  Richard  Scarthe !  or  on  the  point  of  my  sword *' 

The  threat  was  left  unfinished,  or  rather  unheard ;  for  simultane* 
ous  with  its  utterance  came  the  action — Holtspur  raised  his  naked 
blade  and  rushing  upon  his  adversary. 

"  Seize  him ! "  cried  the  latter,  reining  his  horse  backward  to 
escape  the  thrust.     "  Seize  the  rebel !     Slay  him  if  he  resists  ! " 

At  the  conunand  half-a-dozen  of  the  cuirassiers  spurred  their 
steeds  forward  to  the  spot.  Some  stretched  forth  their  hands  to  lay 
hold  upon  Holtspui*,  while  others  aimed  at  striking  him  down  with 
the  butts  of  their  carabines. 

Garth  and  the  Indian  had  sallied  forth  to  defend  their  master,  who, 
had  it  not  been  for  this,  would  perhaps  have  made  a  more  prolonged 
resistance. 

But  the  sight  of  his  two  faithful  followers — thus  unnecessarily 
risking  their  lives — caused  him  suddenly  to  change  his  mad  design; 
and  without  offering  further  resistance,  he  surrendered  himself  into 
the  hands  of  the  soldiers  who  had  surrounded  him. 

"  Fast  bind  the  rebel !  "  cried  Scarthe,  endeavoring  to  conceal  his 
chagrin  at  having  shown  fear,  by  pouring  forth  a  volley  of  loyal 
speeches. 

**  Relieve  him  of  his  worthless  weapon !  Tie  him  hand  and  foot — 
tteck  and  crop !  He  is  mad,  and  therefore  dangerous.  Ha !  ha !  ha! 
Tight,  you  knaves !     Tight  as  a  hangman's  necktie  ! " 

1  he  order  was  obeyed  quickly — if  not  to  the  letter ;  and  in  a  few 
geoonds  Henry  Holtspur  stood  bound  in  the  midst  of  his  jeering 
enemies , 

*  Bring  forth  his  horse !  "  cried  Scarthe,  in  mocking  tones.  "  The 
black  horseman !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Let  him  have  one  last  ride  on  his 
favorite  charger.  After  that  he  shall  ride  at  the  king's  expense. 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Thd  black  steed,  already  saddled  by  Garth,  was  soon  brought 
found  and  led  towards  the  captive.     There  was  something  significant 


ON  THB  'mAIL.  Mt 

Wk  iiw  ncigk  to  which  Hubert  gave  utterance  as  he  approached  thi 
■pot — ^aomething  mournful:  as  if  he  suspected,  or  knew,  that  hit 
master  was  in  a  position  of  peril. 

As  he  was  conducted  nearer,  and  at  length  placed  side  by  side  witi 
the  prisoner,  he  bent  his  neck  round  till  his  muzzle  touched  Holt- 
•pur's  cheek ;  while  his  low,  tremulous  whimpering  proved,  as  plainly 
as  words  could  have  expressed  it,  that  he  comprehended  all. 

The  cuirassier  captain  had  watched  the  odd  and  afiecting  incident. 
Instead  of  exciting  his  sympathy,  it  only  intensified  his  chagrin. 

The  presence  of  that  steed  reminded  him,  more  forcibly  than  ever, 
of  his  own  humiliating  defeat — of  which  the  animal  had  been  mor« 
than  a  little  the  cause. 

Scarthe  hated  the  horse  almost  as  much  as  his  master. 

"Now,  brave  sir !  "  shouted  he,  endeavoring,  in  a  derisive  strain, 
to  drown  the  unpleasant  memories  which  the  sight  of  Hubert  had 
summoned  up.  "  Such  a  distinguished  individual  must  not  ride  bare- 
headed along  the  king's  highway.  Ho,  there !  Bring  out  his  beaver 
ftnd  set  it  upon  his  crown  jauntily— jauntily !  " 

Three  or  four  of  the  cuirassiers,  who  had  dismounted,  were  pro- 
ceeding to  obey  this  last  order^ — and  had  already  mounted  the  steps 
leading  up  to  the  entrance — when  an  ejaculation  from  their  com- 
mander caused  them  to  turn  back. 

"Never  mind,  my  lads!'*  he  cried,  as  if  having  changed  his 
mtention.  "  Back  to  your  horses  !  Never  mind  the  hat ;  I  shall  go 
for  it  myself." 

The  final  words  of  this  injunction  were  rather  muttered,  than 
spoken  aloud.  It  was  not  intended  they  should  be  heard.  They 
appeared  to  be  the  involuntary  expression  of  some  secret  purpose, 
which  had  suddenly  suggested  itself  to  the  mind  of  the  speaker. 

After  giving  utterance  to  them,  the  cuirassier  captain  leaped  silently 
out  of  the  saddle;  and  mounting  the  stone  steps,  entered  the  door  of 
the  dwelling. 

He  traversed  the  entrance-hall  with  searching  glances ;  and  con- 
tinued on  along  the  corridor — until  he  stood  opposite  the  door  of  an 
apartment.  It  was  the  library  lately  occupied  by  the  conspirators 
He  knew  its  situation ;  and  surmised  that  he  would  there  find  what 
\b  was  seeking  for. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  On  entering  he  saw  the  desired  object — 
the  hat  of  Holtspur,  hanging  upon  the  antlers  of  a  stag  that  wen 
ilxed  ia  a  conspicuous  position  against  the  wail. 


M6 

He  clutched  ftt  the  hat,  ari     r ked  it  down—Tnth  at  much  eage^ 

BCBs,  as  if  he  feai^d  that  soi/   -  .ling  might  intervene  to  prevent  him 

It  needed  no  close  scrutiny  discover  the  white  gauntlet,  still  in 
its  place  beside  the  panache  <  J^trich  feathers.  On  the  next  instant, 
the  hat,  though  permitted  tr  etain  its  plume,  was  despoiled  of  the 
doe-skin. 

With  a  bitter  smile  passing  over  his  pale  features,  did  Scarthe  scaa 
the  two  gloves  once  more  brought  together.  Finger  by  finger,  and 
stitch  by  stitch  did  he  compare  them — holding  them  side  by  side,  and 
up  to  the  window's  light.  His  smile  degenerated  into  a  frown,  as, 
on  the  completion  of  the  analysis,  he  became  convinced — beyond  the 
possibility  of  a  doubt — that  the  glove  taken  from  the  hat  of  Henry 
Holtspur,  and  that  now  figuring  on  his  own  helmet,  werefellows,  and 
formed  a  pair.  Right  and  left  were  they — the  latter  being  the  true 
love  token  !  He  had  entertained  a  hope,  though  but  a  very  slight 
one,  that  he  might  still  be  mistaken.  He  could  indulge  it  no  longer. 
The  gauntlet  worn  in  the  hat  of  the  black  horseman,  must  have 
once  graced  the  fair  fingers  of  Marion  Wade. 

"  Has  she  given  it  to  him  ?  Need  I  ask  the  question  ?  She  must 
have  done  so,  beyond  a  doubt.  May  the  fiend  fire  my  soul,  if  I  do 
not  find  an  opportunity  to  make  her  rue  the  gift ! " 

Such  was  the  unamiable  menace  with  which  Scarthe  completed  the 
comparison  of  the  gloves. 

That,  just  taken  from  the  hat  of  Holtspur,  was  now  transferred  to 
the  breast  of  his  doublet.  Quick  and  secret  was  the  transfer :  as  if 
he  deemed  it  desirable  that  the  act  should  not  be  observed. 

*♦  Go !  "  he  commanded,  addressing  himself  to  one  of  the  troopers 
who  attended  him ;  "  go  into  the  garden — if  there  be  such  a  thing 
\ho\it  this  wretched  place.  If  not,  take  to  the  fields ;  and  procure 
me  some  flowers.  Red  ones— no  matter  what  sort,  so  that  they  be 
of  a  bright  red  color.    Bring  them  hither,  and  be  quick  about  't  1  • 

The  soldier — accustomed  to  obey  orders  without  questioning — hur- 
ried out  to  execute  the  singular  command. 

"  You,"  continued  Scarthe,  speaking  to  the  other  trooper,  who  had 
entered  with  him ;  "  you  set  about  collecting  those  papers.  Secure 
that  valise.  It  appears  to  need  no  further  packing.  See  that  it  bt 
taken  to  Bulstrode.  Search  every  room  in  the  house;  and  bring 
out  any  arms  or  papers  yeu  may  light  upon.  You  know  your  work. 
Po  it  briskly!" 


OK  THS  TEAIL.  247 

With  like  alacrity  the  second  attendant  hastened  to  perform  thi 
part  allotted  to  huii;  and  Scarthe  was  for  the  moment  left  to  him 
self. 

"  I  should  he  more  hungry,"  muttered  he,  "  after  these  documenti 
I  see  scattered  about,  were  I  in  need  of  them.  No  doubt  there's 
many  a  traitor's  name  inscribed  on  their  pages :  and  enough  besides 
to  compromise  half  the  squires  in  the  county.  More  than  one,  I 
warrant  me,  through  this  silent  testimony,  would  become  entitled  to 
a  cheap  lodging  in  that  grand  tenement  eastward  of  Cheap.  It's  a 
sort  of  thing  I  don't  much  relish;  though  now  I  am  into  it,  I  may 
as  well  make  a  wholesale  sweep  of  these  conspiring  churls.  As  for 
Holtspur  and  Sir  Marmy,  I  need  no  written  evidence  of  their  guilt 
My  own  oral  testimony,  conjoined  with  that  of  my  worthy  sub, 
will  be  sufficient  to  deprive  one— or  both,  if  need  be— of  their  heads. 
So — ^to  the  devil  with  the  documents !  " 

As  he  said  this  he  turned  scornfully  away  from  the  table  on  which 
the  papers  were  strewed. 

"  Stay  !  "  he  exclaimed — the  instant  after  facing  round  again,  with 
a  look  that  betokened  some  sudden  change  in  his  views.  "  Not  so 
fiist,  Richard  Scarthe  !  Not  so  fast !  Who  knows  that  among  this 
forest  of  treasonous  scribbling,  I  may  not  find  some  flower  of  episto- 
lary correspondence — a  billet-dovx.  Ha !  if  there  should  be  one 
from  her !    Strange,  I  did  not  think  of  it  before.    If— if— if — " 

In  the  earnestness  with  which  he  proceeded  to  toss  over  the  litter 
of  letters  and  other  documents,  his  hypothetical  thought,  whatever 
it  was,  remained  unspoken. 

For  several  minutes  he  b^isied  himself  among  the  papers— opening 
scores  of  epistles — in  the  expectation  of  finding  one  in  a  feminine 
hand,  and  bearing  the  signature  :  "  Marion  Wade." 

He  was  disappointed.  No  such  name  was  to  be  found  among  the 
correspondents  of  Henry  Holtspur.  They  were  all  of  the  masculine 
gender — all,  or  nearly  pjl,  politicians  and  conspirators  ! 

Scarthe  was  about  discontinuing  the  search — for  he  had  opened 
everything  m  the  shape  of  a  letter — ^when  a  document  of  imposing 
aspect  attracted  his  attention  It  bore  the  royal  signet  upon  its 
envelope. 

"  By  the  eyes  of  Argus !  "  cried  he,  as  his  own  fell  upon  the  well- 
known  seal;  "  what  see  I  ?  A  letter  from  the  King !  What  can  hifl 
Majesty  have  to  communicate  to  this  faithful  subject}  I  wonder ! 
Zoimds !  'tis  addressed  to  myself. 


**8  :0N  THE  TKAIL. 

"  *ye  Captain  Scarthe 
•*  •  Command :  H.  M  Rox^cd  Cuirasateh^ 
**  *  Bulstrode  Park, 

"  '  iS^Aire  q/"  Buckingham} 

"  The  intwcepted  dispatch !  Here's  a  discovery  !  Henry  Holt^ 
«pur  a  footpad  !  In  league  with  one,  at  all  events — else  how  should 
he  have  become  possessed  of  this  ?  So — so  !  Not  a  traitor's,  but  a 
felon's  death  shall  he  die !  The  gibbet  instead  of  the  block !  Ha ! 
Mistress  Marion  Wade  !  you  will  repent  the  gift  of  your  pretty 
glove,  when  you  learn  that  you  have  bestowed  it  on  a  thief!  By 
St.  Sulpice  !  'twill  be  a  comical  eclaircissement ! 
"  Ho,  fellow,  you've  got  the  flowers  ? " 

"  I  have,  captain.  They  be  the  best  I  can  find.  There  a'nt 
nothing  but  weeds  about  the  old  place,  an'  withered  at  that." 

"  So  much  the  better  :  I  want  them  a  trifle  withered.  These  will 
do — color,  shape — -just  the  thing.  Here !  arrange  them  in  a  little 
bunch,  and  tie  it  to  this  hat.  Fix  them  as  if  the  clasp  confined  them 
in  their  place.  Be  smart,  my  man ;  and  make  a  neat  thing  of  it !  '* 
The  trooper  plied  his  fingers  with  aU  the  plastic  ingenuity  in  his 
power ;  and,  in  a  few  seconds  of  time,  a  somewhat  ragged  bouquet 
was  arranged,  and  adjusted  on  the  beaver  belonging  to  the  black 
horseman,  in  the  same  place  late  occupied  by  the  white  gauntlet. 

"  Now !  "  said  Scarthe,  making  a  stride  in  the  direction  of  the 
door;  "take  out  this  hat."  Place  it  on  the  head  of  the  prisoner; 
and  hark  ye,  corporal ;  you  needn't  let  him  see  the  transformation 
that  has  been  made ;  nor  need  you  show  it  conspicuously  to  any  one 
else.    You  understand  me  ?  " 

The  trooper,  having  replied  to  these  confidential  commands  with  % 
nod  and  a  knowing  look,  hurried  off  to  execute  them. 

Stubbs,  in  charge  of  the  guards  outside,  had  already  mounted 
Holtspur  on  horseback ;  where,  with  hands  fast  bound,  and,  for 
additional  security,  tied  to  the  croup  of  the  saddle,  his  ancles  also 
lashed  to  the  stirrup-leathers,  and  a  steel-clad  cuirassier,  with  drawn 
sword,  on  each  side  of  him,  he  looked  like  a  captive  left  without  the 
•lightest  chance  of  escape. 

Even  when  thus  ignominiously  pinioned,  no  air  of  the  felon  had  he. 
EGs  head,  though  bare,  was  not  bowed ;  but  carried  proudly  erect, 
without  swagger,  and  with  that  air  of  tranquil  indifference  which 
diatinguifihes  the  true  oayalier»  even  in  captivity.    His  rough,  an<i 


DANOEY  IN  DBINIt.  249 

iomewhat  vagabond  captors,  could  not  help  admiring  that  heiou 
courage,  of  which,  but  a  few  days  before,  they  had  witnessed  «uch 
splendid  proof. 

"  What  a  pity,"  whispered  one :  "  what  a  pity  he's  not  on  oiu 
tide  I    He'd  make  a  noble  officer  of  cavalry !  " 

"  Help  Master  Holtspur  to  his  hat !"  tauntingly  commanded  Scarthe 
fts  he  clambered  upon  his  own  steed.  *'  The  wind  must  not  be  per- 
mitted to  toss  those  waving  locks  too  rudely.  How  becoming  they 
will  be  upon  the  block.     Ha !  ha  !  ha !  " 

As  commanded,  his  bat  was  placed  upon  the  prisoner's  head. 

The  "  forward,'*  brayed  out  by  the  bugle,  drowned  the  satirical 
laugh  of  their  leader ;  while  the  troopers,  in  files  of  two,  with  Scartht 
at  their  head,  Stubbs  in  the  rear,  and  Holtspur  near  the  centre, 
moved  slowly  across  the  lawn  >  leaving  the  mansion  of  Stone  Dean 
without  a  master ! 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


DUrOBT  IN  DBIITK. 


On  perceiving  that  his  presence  could  no  longer  be  of  any  servloe 
to  his  patron,  and  might  be  detrimental  to  himself,  Gregory  Garth 
bad  betaken  his  body  to  a  place  of  concealment — one  of  the  garrets 
of  Stone  Dean — where,  through  a  dormer-window,  he  had  been 
witness  to  all  that  transpired  outside. 

As  the  last  of  Scarthe's  troopers  passed  out  through  the  gateway 
of  Stone  Dean,  the  ex-footpad  came  down  from  his  hiding-place,  and 
re-appeared  in  front  of  the  house. 

Guided  by  a  similar  instinct,  the  Indian  had  also  made  himsel  I 
invisible ;  and  now  re-appearing  at  the  same  time,  the  two  stood  face 
to  face  ;  but  without  the  ability  to  exchange  either  word  or   idea. 

Gregory  could  not  understand  the  pantomimic  language  of  the  In 
dian;  while  the  latter  knew  not  a  word  of  English — the  cavalief 
always  conversing  with  him  in  his  native  tongue. 

It  is  true  that  neither  had  much  to  say  to  the  other.  Both  had 
witnessed  the  capture  of  then-  common  patron  and  master.     Orioli 


260  DAKOET  IN  DUmK. 

only  knew  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  enemies ;  while  Garth  inort 
clearly  comprehended  the  character  of  these  enemies,  and  theif 
motive  for  making  him  a  prisoner. 

Now  that  he  was  a  prisoner,  the  first  and  simultaneous  though! 
of  both  was — ^whether  there  was  any  chance  of  effecting  his  escape. 

With  the  American  this  was  an  instinct ;  while  perhaps  with  anj 
other  Englishman,  than  one  of  Garth's  kidney,  the  idea  would  scarce 
haye  been  entertained. 

But  the  ex-footpad,  in  the  course  of  his  professional  career,  had 
found  his  way  out  of  too  many  prisons,  to  regard  the  accomplish- 
ment of  such  a  feat  as  either  impossible  or  improbable ;  and  he  at 
once  set  about  reflecting  upon  what  steps  should  be  taken  for  the 
rescue  and  release  of  Henry  Holtspur. 

Garth  was  sadly  in  need  of  a  second  head  to  join  counsel  with  his 
own.  That  of  the  Indian,  however  good  it  might  be,  was  absolutely 
of  no  use  to  him  :  since  there  was  no  way  of  gettmg  at  the  ideas  it 
contained. 

"The  unfortunate  creatur!"  exclaimed  he,  after  several  vain 
attempts  as  a  mutual  understanding  of  signs;  "  he  an't  no  good  to 
me — not  half  so  much  as  my  own  old  dummies :  for  they  war  o'  som* 
sarvice.     Well,  I  maun  try  an'  manage  'ithout  him." 

Indeed  Gregory,  whether  wishing  it  or  not,  was  soon  reduced  to 
this  alternative ;  for  the  Indian,  convinced  that  he  could  not  make 
himself  intelligiltle,  desisted  from  the  attempt.  Following  out  an- 
other of  his  natural  instincts,  he  parted  from  the  ex-footpad,  and 
glided  off  upon  the  track  of  the  troopers — perhaps  with  some  vague 
idea  of  being  more  serviceable  to  his  master  if  once  to  his  sidfl 
again. 

"  The  dummie's  faithful  to  him  as  a  hound ; "  muttered  Gregory, 
seeing  the  Indian  depart ;  same  as  my  ole  clo'  pals  war  to  me.  Sir 
in  Miry  ha  did  'im  a  sarvice  some  time  I  dar  say — ^as  he  does  iyery- 
jixiy  wheniver  he  can.     Now,  what's  to  be  done  for  him  ?  " 

The  footpad  stood  for  some  moments  in  a  reflecting  attitude. 
They've  ta'en  'im  up  to  Bulstrode,  where  they're  quartered* 
N€  doul'.  'bout  that.  They  won't  keep 'im  there  a  longish  time. 
They  mean  no  common  prison  to  hold  him,  Newgate,  or  the  Towei 
--one  o'  the  two  are  sure  o'  bein'  his  lodgin' afore  the  morrow 
Qight ! 

"  What  chance  o'  a  rescue  on  the  road  ?  Ne'er  a  much,  T  fear 
Darg  seize  it !  my  dummies   wouldn't   do  for  that  son  o'  thinie 


m 

Th«relL  goo  %  whoole  troop  o'  these  kewresseers  along  vi*  'im  ?  Nf 
doubt  o*t. 

"  I  wonder  if  they'll  take  'im  up  the  day  ?  Maybe  they  woan't  i 
an'  if  they  doan't,  theer  mout  be  a  chance  i'  the  night.  I  wish  J 
hed  some'n  to  help  me  wi'  a  good  think. 

**  Hang'd  if  I  kinrb'live  ole  Dancey  to  be  a  treetur.  Tan't  possible 
titer  what  he  ha'  sayed  to  me,  no  later  than  yesterday  mornin'.  No^ 
it  isn't  possible.  He  ha'  know'd  nothin'  'bout  this  bizness ;  an'  i< 
be  all  the  doins  o'  that  devil's  get  o'  a  Walford. 

*'I'll  go  see  Dancey.  I'll  find  out  whether  he  a  hed  'a  hand  in'i 
or  no.  If  no,  then  he  do  summat  to  holp  me;  an,  maybe  that 
daughter  o' his '11  do  summat  ?  Sartin  she  will.  If  my  eyes  don't 
cheat  me,  the  gurl's  mad  arter  Sir  Henry — mad  as  a  she  hare  in 
March  time. 

"  I'll  goo  to  Dancey's  this  very  minnit.  I've  another  irrend  i'  that 
game  d'rection ;  an' I  kin  kill  two  burds  wi'  the  one  stooan.  Cuss 
the  whey-faced  loon  Walford !  If  I  doan't  larrup  'im  as  long  as  I 
kin  find  a  hard  spot  inside  his  ugly  skin.    Augh !  " 

And  winding  up  his  soliloquy  with  the  aspirated  exclamation,  he 
re-entered  the  house — as  if  to  prepare  for  his  proposed  visit  to  the 
cottage  of  Dancey. 

Although  he  had  promised  himself  to  start  on  the  instant,  it  was  a 
good  half-hour  before  he  took  his  departure  from  Stone  Dean.  The 
larder  lay  temptingly  open — as  also  the  wine  cellar ;  and  although 
the  captors  of  Henry  Holtspur  had  foraged  freely  upon  both,  the 
short  time  allowed  them  for  ransacking  had  prevented  their  making 
a  clear  sweep  of  the  shelves.  The  ex-footpad,  therefore,  found  suffi- 
cient food  left  to  furnish  him  with  a  tolerable  breakfast,  and  wine 
enough  to  wash  it  down. 

In  addition  to  time  spent  in  appeasing  his  appetite,  there  was  an 
•ihcr  affair  that  occupied  some  twenty  minutes  longer.  In  his 
master's  bedroom — and  other  apartments  that  had  not  been  entered 
by  the  cuirassiers — there  lay  a  nimiber  of  valuable  articles  of  a  por 
table  kind.  These,  that  may  almost  be  said  to  be  now  ownerless, 
were  of  course  no  longer  safe— even  within  the  house.  Any  thief 
might  enter,  and  carry  them  away  under  his  cloak. 

The  man,  who  made  this  reflection,  was  not  one  to  leave  such 
chattels  unsecured ;  and  procuring  a  large  bag,  he  thrust  into  it  silver 
caps,  and  candlesticks,  with  several  other  costly  articles  of  lux^ 
irossy  and  annor,  on?  upon  top  of  the  other^  until  the  sack  was  filled 


SftS  DANOEY   m  DBINK. 

to  the  month.  Hoisting  it  on  his  shoulders,  he  marched  oa.  of  tb^ 
house ;  and  after  carrying  the  spoil  to  some  distance  among  tht 
shrubbery,  he  selected  for  it  a  place  of  concealment. 

As  this  was  an  act  in  which  the  ci-devant  footpad  was  kn  adept» 
he  bestowed  the  property  in  such  a  manner,  that  the  sharpest  eyt 
might  have  passed  within  six  feet  without  perceiving  it. 

It  is  not  justice  to  Gregory  to  say  that  he  was  stealing  this  treasure. 
He  was  merely  secreting  it,  against  the  return  of  its  owner.  But  it 
would  be  equally  untrue  to  assert,  that,  while  hiding  the  bag  among 
the  bushe&,  his  mind  did  not  give  way  to  somer  vague  speculation,  as 
to  the  chance  of  a  reversion. 

Perhaps  it  occurred  to  him  that  in  the  event  of  Holtspur  never  re- 
turning to  Stone  Dean,  or  never  being  again  seen  by  him.  Garth,  the 
contents  of  that  sack  would  be  compensation  for  the  loss  of  his  be- 
loved master. 

Certainly  some  such  thought  flitted  vaguely  through  his  brain  at 
the  moment ;  though  it  could  not  have  taken  the  shape  of  a  wish :  for 
in  the  very  next  instant  he  took  his  departure  from  Stone  Dean, 
eagerly  bent  on  an  errand,  which,  if  successful,  would  annihilate  all 
hope  of  that  vaguely  contemplated  reversion. 

As  may  be  surmised  from  his  soliloquized  speeches,  his  route  lay 
direct  to  the  dwelling  of  Dick  Dancey ;  and  in  due  time  he  arrived 
within  sight  of  his  humble  abode. 

Before  coming  out  into  the  sUght  clearing  that  surrounded  it,  he 
observed  some  one  staggering  off  upon  the  opposite  side.  He  only 
caught  a  glimpse  of  this  person,  who  in  the  next  instant  disappeared 
among  the  trees,  but  in  that  glimpse  Garth  identified  the  individual. 
It  was  the  woodman  Walford,  who,  from  the  way  he  was  tracking 
it,  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of  intoxication. 

Garth,  comprehending  the  cause,  came  easily  to  this  conclusion : 
and  making  no  further  pause,  except  to  ascertain  that  the  woodman 
was  continuing  his  serpentine  promenade,  passed  on  towards  the 
cottage. 

He  had  made  a  correct  guess  as  to  Walford's  condition :  for  at  that 
inoment  the  woodman  was  perhaps  as  drunk  as  he  had  ever  been  in 
his  life.  How  he  came  to  get  into  this  state  will  be  made  clear,  by 
giving  in  brief  detail  some  incidents  that  had  transpired  since  his  de- 
parture from  Stone  Dean,  in  which  he  and  his  co-adjutor  Dancey  had 
been  the  chief  actors. 

It  was  still  only  the  earliest  dawn  of  morning  when  the  brace  ol 
worthies,  returning  home  after  their  night's  stable  work,  entered 


9ftS 

onder  the  shadows  of  Wapsey*s  Wood ;  but  there  sras  light  enough 
to  show  that  the  steps  of  neither  were  as  steady  as  they  should  hart 
been.  Both  kept  repeatedly  stumbling  against  the  trees ;  and  once 
Walford  went  head  foremost  into  a  pool  of  muddy  water,  from  which 
he  emerged  with  his  foul  complexion  still  fouler  in  appearance. 

The  rain,  which  had  rendered  the  path  slippery,  might  have  ac- 
counted for  this  unsteadiness  in  the  steps  of  the -two  foresters.  But 
there  was  also  observable  in  their  speech  an  obliquity,  which  could 
not  have  been  caused  by  the  rain ;  but  was  clearly  the  consequence 
of  exposure  to  a  more  potent  fluid. 

Dancey  conversed  glibly  and  gleefully,  interlarding  his  speech  with 
an  occasional  spell  of  chuckliag  laughter.  He  had  come  away  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  the  proceedings  of  the  night ;  the  proceeds  of 
which,  a  fistful  of  silver,  he  repeatedly  pulled  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
held  up  to  the  dim  light,  tossing  it  about  to  assure  himself  that  it 
was  the  real  coin  of  the  realm  that  chinked  between  his  fingers. 

Walford's  palm  seemed  not  to  have  been  so  liberally  "  greased  ;* 
but  for  all  that  he  was  also  in  high  spirits  Something  besides  his 
perquisites  had  put  him  in  a  good  humor  with  himself;  though  he 
did  not  impart  the  secret  of  this  something  to  his  conpanion.  It 
was  not  altogether  the  contents  of  the  stone  jar  which  he  had  ab- 
stracted from  the  cellars  of  Stone  Dean ;  though  it  might  have  been 
this  that  was  causing  him  to  talk  so  thickly,  and  stumble  so  frequent- 
ly upon  the  path. 

There  was  a  stimulant  to  his  joy  more  exciting  than  the  spirit  he 
had  imbibed  out  of  the  bottle.  It  was  the  prospect  of  proximate 
ruin  to  the  man,  whose  bread  he  had  been  just  eating,  and  whose  beer 
he  had  been  drinking. 

It  was  by  no  means  clear  to  him  how  this  ruin  would  be  brought 
about.  His  new  patron  had  not  given  him  so  much  as  a  hint  of  the 
use  he  intended  making  of  that  night's  work.  But,  dull  as  was  the 
brain  of  the  brute  Walford,  he  knew  that  something  would  follow 
likel}^  to  rid  him  of  his  rival ;  and  this,  too,  without  any  further  risk 
or  exertion,  on  his  part.  Both  the  danger  and  the  trouble  of  aven- 
ging himself— for  he  felt  vengeful  towards  Holtspur — were  not  only 
taken  out  of  his  hands,  but  he  was  also  promised  a  handsome  reward 
for  his  easy  and  willing  service.  This  was  the  real  cause  of  his 
secret  glee :  at  the  moment  heightened  by  the  repeated  potations  ia 
which  he  had  been  indulging. 

On  arriving  at  the  cottage  of  his  companion,  it  was  not  to  be  ex 
peeted  that  Walford,  in  this  st^te  of  feehng,  would  pass  by  witbonl 


154  DANOET   IN   DBINK. 

looking  in.  Nor  was  Dancej  in  the  mind  to  let  him  pass ;  for  it  M 
ehanced  that  the  jar  of  Hollands^  which  the  young  woodman  had  ab* 
Btracted  from  the  cellars  of  Stone  Dean,  was  carried  under  the  skirt 
ni  his  doublet ;  and  Dancey  knew  that  it  was  not  yet  empty. 

Tbs  challenge  of  the  old  deer-stealer,  to  enter  his  cottage  and 
finish  the  gin,  was  readily  responded  to  by  his  confrere  ;  and  both, 
staggering  inside  the  hut,  flung  themselves  into  a  couple  of  rush- 
bottomed  chairs.  Walford,  uncorking  the  "grey-beare,'*  place i  it 
upon  the  table ;  and,  tin  cups  having  been  procured,  the  two  wood- 
men continued  the  carouse,  which  their  homeward  scramble  had 
interrupted. 

It  had  now  got  to  be  daylight ;  and  the  beautiful  Betsey,  who 
had  been  astir  long  before  sunrise,  was  summoned  to  attend  upon 
them. 

Neither  cared  for  eating.  The  larder  of  Stone  Dean  had  spoiled 
the  appetites  of  both ;  while  its  cellar  had  only  sharpened  their  craT- 
ing  for  drink. 

At  first  "Walford  scarce  regarded  the  chill  reception  extended  i» 
him  by  the  daughter  of  his  host.  He  was  too  much  elated  at  the 
prospect — of  being  soon  disembarrassed  of  his  dreaded  rival — to  pay 
attention  to  the  frowns  of  his  mistress.  At  that  moment  he  believ- 
ed himself  in  a  way  of  becoming  master  of  the  situation. 

By  little  and  little,  however,  his  jealous  misgivings  began  to  rise 
in  the  ascendant — mastering  even  the  potent  spirit  of  the  juniper. 

A  movement  which  Bet  had  made  towards  the  door — where  she 
stood  looking  wistfully  out,  as  if  expecting  some  one — forcibly  arres- 
ted Walford's  attention;  and,  notwithstanding  the  presiuned  re- 
straint of  her  father*s  presence,  he  broke  out  in  a  strain  of  resentful 
recrimination. 

"  Da-ang  thee  ! "  he  exclaimed,  angrily  blurting  out  the  phrase, 
"  thee  be  a  stannin'  in  that  door  for  no  good.  I  wonder  thee  aUows 
it,  Dick  Dancey?" 

"Eh!  lad— hic-hic-ough !— what  is't,  Wull ?  Say  Bets'!  what 
ha*  ye — hic-hic-ough — eh  ?  " 

"  She  be  danged '  An'  thee  be  a  old  fool,  Dick,  to  let  her  go*  on  m 
wi'  that  fellow." 

«*  Eh,  Wull  ?    Wha'  fella— who  you  meean,  lad— hic-cuff  ?  " 

**  She  know  who  I  meean  She  know  well  enough,  wi'  all  her 
innocent  looks,  Ha !  He'll  make  a  —  o'  her,  if  he  hant  dfd  it 
$•  ready.** 


"Father !  will  jou  listen  to  this  language  ?  **  cried  Bet,  turning  hi 
from  the  door,  and  appealing  to  her  natural  protector  against  the  vilt 
term  which  her  drunken  suitor  had  applied  to  her.  "It  isn't  th« 
first  time  he  has  called  me  by  that  name.  Oh,  father !  don't  let  him 
say  it  again !  " 

"  Ye  fa3rther  11  find  out  some  day  that  it  be  only  the  truth,"  mut- 
tered Walford,  doggedly. 

"  Troos ! "  repeated  Dancey,  with  a  maudlin  stare,  *'  troos — ^whal 
Is't,  lad  ?— what  is't,  Betsey,  gurl  ? " 

"  He  called  me  a ,"  answered  the  girl,  reluctantly  repeating 

the  opprobrious  epithet. 

"He  did!  called  you  a- ^,  Betsey?    Ifhecalledyeth»-th*-that, 

1*11  sm-a-a-ash  him  into  fagots  !  ** 

As  the  woodman  uttered  this  characteristic  threat,  he  attempted 
to  raise  himself  into  an  upright  attitude,  apparently  with  the  inten- 
tion of  carrying  it  into  execution. 

The  attempt  proved  a  failure;  for, after  half  regaining  his  legs,  the 
intoxicated  deer-stealer  sank  back  into  his  chair,  the  "  rungs  "  of 
which  bent  and  cracked  under  his  ponderous  weight,  as  if  about  to 
part  company  with  each  other. 

"  Ee-s !  "  tauntingly  continued  the  accuser,  gaining  confidence  hf 
the  helplessness  of  Old  Dick,  otherwise  dreaded  by  him.  "Thet 
deserves  to  be  called  it !    Thee  be  all  I  say— a ** 

"  Ton  hear  him,  father  ?    He  has  said  it  again ! " 

" Said  what— what.  Bets',  gurl? " 

«*ThatI'ma ** 

And  Betsey  once  more  repeated  the  ofiensive  word;  this  time 
pronouncing  it  with  fuller  emphasis. 

The  second  appeal  called  forth  a  more  energetic  response.  Thia 
time  Dancey's  attempt  to  get  upon  his  feet  was  more  successful. 

Balancing  himself  against  the  back  of  his  great  armchair,  he  cried 
out — 

"  Wull  Walford !  Thee  be  a  villain !  How  dar*  thee  call  my 
laughter — a — ^a — ^hic-cock?  Goo  out  o*  my  house  this  minute;  or 
if  thee  doan't — ^hic-coo — ^if  thee  doan't,  1*11  split  thy  skull  like  a 
withy !     Get  thee  goo-o-one !  ** 

"I'll  do  jest  that!**  answered  Walford,  sulkily  rising  from  hia 
chair,  and  scowling  resentfully  both  on  father  and  daughter.  "  I  ha' 
got  a  house  o*  me  own  to  go  to;  an'  dang  me, if  I  doan*t  take  along 
wi*  me  what  be  my  pw»l " 


S56  DANOBT  m  DBINK. 

Sajing  this,  he  whipped  the  stone  jar  from  the  table,  stnok  tk« 
oork  into  it ;  and,  placing  it  once  more  under  his  skirt,  strode  out  oi 
the  deer-stealer's  dwelling. 

"Da-ang  thee,  Dick  Danceyl^he  shouted  back,  after  stepping 
OTer  the  threshold.  "  Thee  be-est  a  old  fool,  that's  what  thee  be ! 
An*  as  for  thee,"  he  added,  turning  fiercely  towards  Bet;  "maybe 
thee  hast  seen  thy  fine  fancy — for  the  last  time.  Hoora !  Pvt  did 
that  this  night,  *ll  put  iron  bars  atwetn  thee  an*  h\m.  Dang  thee, 
thou " 

And  once  more  repeating  the  insulting  epithet,  the  yile  brute  broke 
through  the  flimsy  fence,  and  went  reeling  away  into  the  woods. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  his  receding  figure  came  under  the  eyes 
of  Gregory  Garth,  just  then  approaching  the  cottage  from  the  oppo- 
site direction. 

"  What  be  that  he  say  *bout  iron  bars  ?  **  inquired  Dancey,  slightly 
sobered  by  the  unpleasant  incident.  "Who  be  he  threatenin\ 
gurl?" 

"  I  can*t  say,  father,"  replied  Bet,  telling  a  white  lie.  "  I  think  ht 
don't  know  himself  what  he  says.    He  is  the  worse  for  drink." 

"  That  he  be,  ha !  ha !  E-es — hic-coo — ^he  must  be  full  o't — that 
hol-hol-lands  he  bed  up  there  at  the  old  house — hic-coo !  that  ha* 
done  'im  up.  The  lad  han't  got  much  o'  a  head  for  drink.  He  be 
easy  to  get  overc-come.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  I  b'lieve, Betsy, gurl,  I're 
been  a  drinkin*  m'self  ?  Never  mind !  Be  all  right  arter  I  ha'  a 
wink  i'  the  old  arm-ch-ch-air.    So  here  goo-go-es !  " 

With  this  wind  up,  the  deer-stealer  let  himself  down  into  the 
great  beechwood  chair,  as  easily  as  his  unmanageable  limbs  would 
allow  him,  and,  in  less  than  ten  aeoonds'  time,  hn  anoring  prored 
Oia*  ha  wai  aaleep. 


▲  PUNISHMENT  POSTPONKD.  W 


CHAPTER  XL. 


▲  FUKISHMBKT  POSTPOmSD. 


The  parting  speech  of  her  resentful  lorer  had  not  fal  en  npon  th« 

ears  of  Bet  Dancey,  without  producing  an  effect. 

It  was  not  the  opprobrious  epithet  concluding  it,  that  had  caused 
the  red  to  forsake  her  cheeks — leaving  them,  with  her  lips  blanched 
and  bloodless. 

It  was  not  the  villifying  phrase ;  but  the  hint  that  preceded  it, 
which  caused  her  to  start  to  her  feet,  and  stand  for  some  time  gasp- 
ing with  suspended  breath. 

*'  Maybe  thee  hast  seen  thy  fine  fancy  for  the  last  time.  Ha . 
Vve  did  that  this  night  'II  put  iron  bars  atween  thee  and  him" 

Such  were  "Walford's  exact  words. 

Between  her  and  whom?  Holtspur.?  Who  else?  Who  but 
Iloltspur  was  in  Jie<r  mind  ?  And  who  but  he  could  be  in  the  mind 
of  Walford  ? 

She  knew  that  Walford  was  fiercely  jealous  of  the  black  horseman 
Glad  would  she  have  been  for  the  latter  to  have  given  him  cause 
Alas !  she  alone  had  exhibited  the  signs  that  had  conducted  Walford 
to  this  jealousy. 

Iron  bars — a  prison — ^for  him — the  man  who  in  her  own  wild  way 
•he  almost  adored ! 

What  did  it  mean  ?  Was  it  in  prospect,  this  threatened  prison  fof 
Iloltspur  ?    Or  might  it  mean  that  he  was  already  incarcerated  ? 

The  latter  could  scarce  be — else  something  relating  to  it  would 
have  escaped  from  the  lips  either  of  her  father  or  his  guest,  during 
ilieir  babble  over  the  bottle  of  Hollands. 

They  had  been  at  Stone  Dean  throughout  the  whole  night. 

The  girl  knew  it,  and  knew  how  they  had  been  employed ;  knew 
also  something  of  the  character  of  the  company  convened  there- 
enough  to  convince  her  that  it  was  some  sort  of  a  secret  asseriblag^ 
dangerous  to  ]b§  h^l^  wder  the  hght  of  day. 


SS8  A  PUNISHMENT  POBTPONED. 

The  unlettered,  but  intelligent  maiden,  knew,  moreorer,  that  iht 
cavalier  was  a  man  of  peculiar  inclinings — that  is,  one  who  was  sus- 
pected of  not  being  loyal  to  the  king. 

She  had  heard  all  this  in  whispers,  and  from  the  lips  of  her 
lather — ^who  was  accustomed  to  make  no  secret  of  his  own  disloy 
alty. 

Bet  regarded  not  the  republican  leanings  of  the  man  she  admired 
Perhaps  on  this  account  she  admired  him  all  the  more  ?  Not  becaust 
they  were  in  consonance  with  the  professions  of  her  own  father ;  but 
from  the  courage  required  to  avow  such  sentiments  in  such  times ; 
And  courage  was  just  the  virtue  to  challenge  the  admiration  of  this 
bold-hearted  beauty. 

If  there  was  aught  to  interfere  with  her  approval  of  Holtspur'a 
political  procUvities,  it  was  a  vague  sense  of  his  being  in  danger  from 
holding  them.  This,  from  time  to  time,  had  rendered  her  uneasy  on 
his  account. 

The  words  of  Walford  had  changed  this  uneasiness  into  a  posittva 
KDxiety. 

True,  he  appeared  to  have  uttered  them  in  spite ;  but  not  the  less 
likely  was  his  conditional  threat  to  have  a  foundation  in  some  fact 
about  transpiring,  or  that  had  already  transpired. 

"  There  is  danger,"  muttered  the  maiden,  as  Walford  went  off. 
•*  Master  Holtspur  must  be  warned  of  it — if  I  have  to  go  myself.  I 
Bhall  go,*'  she  added,  as  she  saw  her  father  sink  helplessly  into  his 
chair,  "  and  this  very  instant. " 

She  whipped  her  hooded  cloak  from  its  peg,  flung  it  loosely  over 
her  shoulders ;  and,  casting  another  glance  towards  the  sleeper  in  the 
chair,  was  about  to  set  forth,  on  her  half-spoken  errand ;  when,  just 
at  that  moment,  the  lurcher  gave  out  his  note  of  alarm. 

The  intoxicated  deer-stealer  heard  the  bark ;  stirred  slightly  on 
his  seat ;  muf  ^ered  some  incoherent  syllables ;  and  wandered  off  into 
A  fresh  maze  of  drunken  dreami'Mg. 

"  If  it  should  be  Will  coming  back  ? "  said  Bet,  moving  on  tiptoe 
towards  the  door ;  "  I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  surprised. 

"  Thank  the  stars,  it*s  not !  Some  one  from  the  direction  of  Stone 
Dean !     Oh !  if  it  should  be » 

An  exclamation  of  disappointment  interrupted  the  speech,  as  a  tall 
motley -clad  figure,  a  dark-skinned  face,  and  black  bushy  whisk  3rs, 
presented  themselves  •  ghoi^  ^i^t^nce  off;  under  th9  bT  inches  of  thi 


A  PXTNISHMEITT   POSTPONED.  250 

"It's  that  new  friend  of  father's— ftts  friend,  too,"  muttered  the 
girl.  "  I  heard  them  say  he  was  at  the  Dean  last  night.  Perhaps 
ke  can  tell  ?    Maybe  he  comes " 

"Morrow,  my  gurl !  "  salutated  Gregory  Garth,  interrupting  Bet*f 
speculations  as  to  the  object  of  his  visit. 

"  Niceish  weather.     Old  bird  back  to  his  roost  yet  ?  ** 

**  My  father,  you  mean !  "  rejoined  Bet,  not  showing  any  displeas- 
nr©  at  the  bizarre  style,  either  of  the  salute,  or  the  interrogatory. 

"Why,  sartin,  I  means  him.  Theer  an't  no  other  old  bird  a« 
belongs  to  this  nest,  be  there  ?    At  home,  eh  ?" 

"  He  is.     He's  asleep  in  his  chair.     You  see  him  there  ?  ** 

"  Well,  he  do  appear  to  be  somethin'  o'  that  sort  sureish  enough. 
Asleep,  eh  ?  He  snorts  like  a  good  un !  An't  he  a  leettleish  bit 
more  than  sleepin'  ?  "  continued  the  interrogator,  seeing  that  Bet 
hesitated  to  make  reply  to  the  last  interrogatory.    "  Eh,  gurl  ? 

"  Well !  I  won't  ask  ye  to  answer  the  question — seein'  he  be  thy 
fkyther.  But  theer  sartainly  be  a  strongish  smell  here.  Ah !  it  be 
ooomin'  from  this  cups,  I  s'pose.** 

Garth,  as  he  said  this,  lifted  one  of  the  drinking  yessels  from  the 
table ;  and  held  it  up  the  nose. 

•*  That's  been  Hollands  i'  that  'ere.  Same  i'  t'other,"  he  added, 
imelUng  the  second  cup.  "  Got  the  *sact  bokay — as  the  French  say 
*bout  their  wines — o'  some  o'  them  spirits  over  at  the  Dean.  But 
surely  the  old  un  don't  need  both  cups  to  drink  out  o'  ?  There's  been 
another  un  at  it  ?    It  wam't  thyself? " 

"  No ! "  replied  Bet,  pronouncing  the  denial  whith  a  slightly  in- 
dignant emphasis. 

"  Doant  be  'fended  gorl !  I  war  only  a  jokin'  thee.  But  who 
war  the  other  jovial  ?  ** 

"  A  friend  of  &ther'B.  Ton  know  him,  master.  Will  Walford 
it  was." 

"A  friend  o*  yer  fayther's,  eh?  A  great  friend  o*  yer  fayther*8, 
ain't  he?" 

**  Father  thinks  a  deal  of  him — ^more  than  he  ought  to,  maybe.** 

"  Then  it's  not  true,  Mistress  Betsey,  that  ye  be  so  sweet  apon 
this  WuU  Walford?*' 

"  Sweet  upon  him !    Who  said  I  was  ?  ** 

"Well,  nobody  as  I  knows  on;  but  everybody  say  he  be  that 
way  about  ye." 

"  I  can't  help  that ;  nor  people's  tongues  neither  I  wiah  peopU 
would  only  mind  their  own  bizness " 


§50  A  FinnSHMENT   POSTPOKBD. 

"Ah!  if  they  would,  what  a  happy,  comfortable  it'Orld  we'd 
ha*  o't !    But  they  woan't — dang  seize  'em !  they  woan't !  " 

After  giving  utterance  to  this  somewhat  old-fashioned  reflec  tion, 
Gregory  remained  for  a  time  in  a  state  of  moody  silence  as  if  labor- 
ing under  some  regret  which  the  thought  had  called  up. 

"  You  have  some  biziness  with  father  ? "  said  Bet,  interrogatively 

"  Well — that,"  replied  Garth,  appearing  to  hesitate  about  what  ht 
was  going  to  say — <<that  depends.  Sartin  the  old  un  don't  look 
much  like  doin*  bizness  jest  now — do  he  ?  ** 

"I  fear  not,"  was  Bet's  simple  reply. 

"  Maybe,  Mistress  Betsey,"  continued  Garth,  giving  a  glance  of 
scrutiny  into  the  face  of  the  girl — "  maybe  ye  might  do  for  the  biznesa 
I  heve  on  hand — better,  maybe,  than  thy  fayther  ?    I  want *' 

"  What  is  it  you  want  ? "  inquired  Betsey,  too  impatient  to  wait 
for  the  words,  that  were  spoken  by  Garth  with  some  deliberation. 

"  A  friend.    Not  for  meself;  but  for  one  that  be  in  danger." 

"  Who — ^Who's  m  danger  ? "  asked  the  girl,  whith  an  eagerness  of 
iQanner,  that  did  not  escape  the  quick  eyes  of  him  to  whom  the  inter- 
rogatory was  addressed. 

"A  Gentleman — a  real  gentleman.     Fc  ought  to  known  who  I 


"  I  ought  to  know !    How,  sir  ? " 

**  Ye  han't  beerd,  then,  what  hae  happened  at  Stone  Dean,  thia 
momin'  ? 

Bet  made  no  answer.  Her  look,  while  proclaiming  a  negative,  told 
Um  presentiment  with  which  the  question  had  inspired  her. 

"  Ye  han't  heerd  as  how  Master  Holtspur  ha'  been  tuk  a  prisoner, 
and  carried  away  by  the  kewersseers  o'  Captain  Scarthe  ?  Ye  han't 
heerd  that,  eh?" 

"  Oh,"  cried  Bet,  adding  a  somewhat  more  emphatic  form  of  ejacu« 
lation.  "  Then  that  is  what  he  meant.  I  might  have  known  it.  Oil 
God,  it  was  that ! " 

"  Who  meant  ?    What  ? 

"  Walford,  Will  Walford,  oh !— the  villain ! " 

**  Thee  callest  him  a  villain.    Do  thy  fayther  think  *im  one  ?  ** 

"  When  he  hears  this,  he  will.  Oh,  Master  Holtspur  a  prisorer, 
and  to  that  man  who  is  his  deadly  enemy !  'Tis  Will  Walford'a 
doings,  I  am  sure  it  is." 

"What  makes  thee  thmk  that,  gurl ?  ** 

"  He  said  he  had  done  something,  this  very  hoar  something  U 
bring  it  about." 


A  PUNISHMENT  P03TP0NBD*  ^1 

•  Did  he  say  so  to  thy  fayther  ?  ** 

"No ;  only  out  of  spite  to  me,  just  as  he  was  goin'  off.  My  fk-. 
ther  heard  him,  but  he  was  too — ^too  sleepy  to  understand  him.  II 
he  had " 

"  He  would  ha'  been  angry  w*  *m,  as  thou  art  ?  ** 

"  I  am  sure  he  would." 

"  All  right.    I  tho'ght  as  much." 

•*  A  prisoner!  Oh,  sir!  where  have  they  taken  him  to?  What 
will  they  do  to  him  ?    Tell  me,  tell  me." 

"  I'll  tell  thee,  when  I  know  myself;  an'  that,  gurl,  be  jest 
the  irrend  ha'  bro'ght  me  over  here.  I  see  it  be  no  use  wakin' 
up  the  old  un  jest  now.  Them  Hollands  '11  keep  'im  a  prisoner 
till  well  nigh  sundown.  I'  the  meanwhile,  somethin'  must  be  done 
'ithout  'im.  Maybe  ye  ken  sarve  my  purpose,  as  well,  or  better 'a 
*im,  if  thee  be  that  way  disposed." 

"  What  purpose  ?  If  it  be  anything  I  can  do  for — ^for — Mastef 
Holtspur  !    Oh,  I  shall  only  be  too  glad." 

"  That  be  jest  what  I  want.  Thee  must  know  I'm  a  friend  o^ 
Master  Holtspur — an  old  retainer  o'  his  family ;  an*  I'll  lay  down  my 
life,  or  a'most  that,  to  get  'im  out  o*  the  clutches  o'  these  kewres- 
seers.  I  know  theer  captain '11  try  to  get 'im  beheaded.  Ah,  an* 
he'll  get  it  done  too,  if  we  can't  find  some  way  o'  escape  for  him. 
It's  to  find  that,  I  want  thy  holp  Mistress  Betsey.** 

"  Tell  me  how  I  can  help  thee — I  am  ready  for  anything  ?**  re- 
sponded the  girl. 

As  she  said  this,  both  her  air  and  attitude  betokened  the  truthful- 
ness of  her  words. 

"There  be  no  time  to  lose,  then ;  else  I  mout  ha'  waited  for  yer 
fayther  to  goo  snacks  wi'  us.  No  matter.  We  ken  take  the  first 
steps  'ithout  'im.  It  will  be  for  ye  to  goo  up  to  Bulstrode — that's 
where  they've  taken  Master  Henry  jest  now ;  an*  get  inside  the  house. 
Ye  be  known  there,  bean't  ye  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  can  go  in  or  out  when  I  like.  They  won't  suspect 
anything  in  that." 

**If  be  more  than  I  ked  do,  wi'  tnat  an*  a  goci  many  other 
houses,"  said  Garth,  smiling  significantly ;  "  else  I  mout  ha'  gone  me- 
self.  But  ye'U  do  better  than  anybody,  mayhap.  Find  out,  if  ye 
ken,  first — whether  the  prisoner  be  goin'  to  be  taken  up  to  London ; 
then,  what  time  they're  goin'  to  take  'im ;  then,  what  part  o'  tht 
ikOQse  they've  put  'im  in :  for  he's  sure  to  be  shut  up  somewhere^ 


flOS 

Find  out  that;  an' m  much  more  as  ye  ken;  an^  fetch  the  rhsU 
story  back  here  to  me.  Maybe  by  the  time  ye  gets  back,  the  old  ui 
'11  be  awake,  an'  ha'  his  noddle  clear  enough  to  holp  us  think  o 
iomethin'." 

"I  shall  go  at  once,"  said  Bet,  moying  in  the  direction  of  tht 
door. 

"  Ay,  start  right  off.  The  minutes  be  precious  for  Master  Henry. 
Stay,  I'll  goo  wi'  thee  a  bit.  I've  got  another  irrend  out  this  d'rec- 
tion,  that'll  jest  about  take  up  my  time  till  ye  get  back.  We  may  as 
well  goo  thegither — so  far  as  your  roads  agree.  Good-bye,  Dick 
Dancey !  Snore  on,  old  un ;  an'  sleep  it  off  as  quick's  ye  ken :  we 
may  want  ye  badly  bye-an'-bye." 

And  with  this  jocular  leave-taking,  the  retired  footpad  stepped  out 
of  the  house,  and  followed  the  girl — who,  eager  upon  the  errand  that 
had  summoned  her  forth,  had  already  advanced  some  distance  along 
the  path. 

Their  routes  did  not  correspond  for  any  great  length.  At  a  distance 
of  two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  the  cottage,  the  path  parted  into 
two  :  one,  the  plainer  one,  running  towards  the  rearward  of  Bulstrode 
Park ;  the  other — which  appeared  as  if  used  by  only  a  few  individuals 
— tending  in  the  direction  of  Will  Walford's  domicile. 

The  daughter  of  Dick  Dancey  faced  into  the  former  and  stepping 
out  nimbly,  soon  disappeared  behind  the  hanging  boughs  of  thi 
beeches. 

The  ex-footpad,  lingering  a  little  to  look  after  her,  as  soon  as  she 
was  out  of  sight,  turned  into  the  other  path,  which  would  conduct 
him  to  the  hut  of  the  woodman. 

Before  going  far  in  this  new  direction,  he  once  more  came  to  a 
stop,  alongside  a  big  bush  of  holly,  that  grew  near  the  path.  Draw- 
ing a  clasp-knife  from  his  pocket,  he  proceeded  to  cut  off  one  of  its 
largest  branches. 

Having  severed  the  sapling  from  its  parent  stem,  he  continued  to 
ply  his  blade  upon  it,  until  it  had  assumed  the  form  and  dimensions 
of  a  stout  cudgel.  The  purpose  for  which  this  weapon  was  designed 
may  already  have  been  guessed  at.  If  not,  the  mutterings  which 
•scaped  from  the  lips  of  Gregory  Garth  will  make  clear  his  intent. 

"  I  don't  want,"  said  he,  paring  off  some  of  the  more  prominent 
knots  with  his  knife.  "  I  don't  want  to  kill  the  brute  outright — 
though  he  desarves  that  much,  an'  more  too.  I'll  gie  'im  a  dose, 
bowsomiTor,  as  '11  keep  'im  in-doors,  an'  out  o'  further  mischief— hm 


A  PITNlSHMEirr  POSTPOIJM).  263 

kngMPm  likely  to  stay  i'  this  sogcriD' neighborhooJ.  lie  han't 
got  much  o'  a  picter  to  sj  oil  nohow  or  I'd  make  his  ugly  mug  so 
that  his  own  mother,  if  he  ha'  one,  wouldn't  like  to  swear  to  it. 
Next  time  he  goo  to  play  spy,  or  holp  others  to  do't  eytbsr-  WU  b« 
apt  to  remember  Gregory  Garth.    Won't  he  ? 

"A  tidyish  bit  o'  stick,"  he  continued  holding  up  the  piece  oi 
trimmed  holly,  and  surveying  it  with  an  air  of  satisfaction,  "  an'  il 
I'd  let  them  knots  stay  on,  I  shudn't  hke  to  ha' answered  for  the 
skull  case  o'  Mister  WuU  Walford,  thick  as  that  be.  I  dar  say  it'll 
do  now,  an'  I  maun  keep  on  to  his  house.  Ha !  theer's  his  paltry 
style,  I  s'pose  ?    I  hope  the  pig's  in  o'  it." 

Saying  this,  he  advanced  stealthily  a  few  paces,  and  then  stopped 
to  listen. 

"  Good !  "  he  exclaimed, "  the  brute  be  inside ;  I  hear  his  gruntin*. 
Dang  seize  it,  it's  a  snorl !  They  be  all  asleep  i'  this  Wapsey's 
Wood !  Well,  I'll  wake  Hm  out  •'  that,  wi*  a  heigh  an'  &  ho ;  an' 
here  goo  to  begm  it !  " 

On  giving  utterance  to  this  threat,  he  started  forward  at  a  t[uick 
pace.  He  was  soon  inside  the  hut,  and  standing  over  the  prostrate 
form  of  the  slumbering  wood-chopper. 

The  latter  was  lying  upon  a  low  bed — the  true  truckle  of  the  peas- 
«nt's  cottage— a  stout  structure  of  beechen  timber,  with  short  legs 
raising  it  about  a  foot  from  the  floor. 

The  occupant  of  this  coarse  couch  was  upon  his  back,  with  arms 
and  legs  extended  to  their  full  length,  as  if  he  had  been  spread  out 
on  purpose  to  dry.  But  the  liquid  that  had  placed  him  in  that  atti- 
tude was  not  water.  It  was  a  fluid  that  had  been  administered  in- 
ternally ;  as  could  be  told  by  the  stone  jar  of  Hollands  that  stood 
upon  the  floor,  within  reach  of  his  hand;  and  which  his  uninvited 
visitor  upon  examination  found  to  be  empty. 

"  He's  stolen  it  from  the  cellar  o'  Stone  Dean,"  remarked  the  lat- 
ter, after  smelling  the  jar,  and  otherwise  scrutinizing  it.  "  I  knew  b' 
the  sniff  o'  the  hquor  it's  that  same ;  an'  I  ked  sweer  to  them  Dutch 
bottles  afore  a  full  quorum  o'  justices.  Poor  Master  Henry !  He's 
not  only  been  betrayed,  but  robbed  by  this  ugly  rascal.  Well,  here 
goo  to  gie  him  his  reward  ! " 

As  Garth  uttered  the  words,  he  seized  his  fresh-cut  cudgel ;  and 
iras  about  to  come  down  with  it  upon  the  carcass  of  the  slumbering 
woodman  when  some  thought  suddenly  stayed  his  hand. 

"  No  ! ''  ho  excUimed;  "  I'll  wake  'im  first,  an'  gie  'im  a  bit  o'  m§ 


mind.  If  he  ha*  the  feelin'  o^  ft  luman  creeture,  111  punish  la.  f 
the  moral  way-— as  the  Vicar  o*  Giles'  Chuffont  'ud  call  it. 

"  Hee  up !  "  he  shouted  aloud,  poking  the  sleeper  with  the  point 
of  his  stick.  "  Roust  thee,  thou  sluggart,  an*  see  what's  time  o'  day ! 
Twelve  by  the  sun,  if  it's  a'  hour.    Hee  up,  I  say !  " 

Another  poke  of  the  stick,  administered  still  more  sharply  than 
before,  like  its  predecessor,  produced  no  eflfect — or  only  the  slightest. 
The  inebriate  rustic  continued  to  snore;  and  only  a  low  grunt  declar- 
ed his  consciousness  of  having  been  disturbed ;  though  it  seemed 
more  the  mechanical  action  of  the  cudgel,  that  had  been  pushed 
rather  forcibly  into  the  pit  of  his  stomach. 

"  Hee  up !  "  cried  Garth,  once  more  giving  him  a  taste  of  the  holly 
stick.  "  Rouse  thyself,  I  say !  If  ye  don't,  I'll  wallop  ye  in  yer 
sleep.    Roust !  roust !  " 

At  each  summons  the  poke  was  repeated ;  but  with  no  better  suc- 
cess than  before.  The  sleeper  gave  forth  a  series  of  spasmodic  grunts ; 
but  still  continued  to  snore  on. 

"  But  for  his  snorin',  I'd  think  he  wup  gone  dead,"  said  Garth, 
desisting  from  his  attempts  to  wake  him.  "  If  not  dead,  howiver,  he 
be  dead  drunk.    That's  clear  enough  ! 

"  It  be  no  use  tryin'  to  bring  'im  to  his  senses  ?"  continued  he, 
after  appearing  to  reflect.  "  An'  what's  worse,  'twill  be  no  use  beat- 
in'  'im  i'  that  state.  The  unfeehn'  brute  as  I  may  well  call  'im, 
wouldn't  feel  it  nohow.  I  moat  as  well  strike  me  stick  agin  that 
theer  bundle  fagots.  It's  danged  disappointin'  !  What  be  the  best 
thing  to  do  wi'  him  }  " 

The  puzzled  footpad  stood  for  a  while  reflecting ;  then  continued : — 

"  Twoan't  do  to  ha'  tuk  the  trouble  o'  comin'  here  for  nothin' — 
beside  the  cuttin'  o'  this  cudgel.  If  I  lay  it  into  'im  now,  he  woan't 
feel  it,  till  arter  he  gets  sober.  That  ain't  the  satisfaction  I  want.. 
I  want  to  see  Hm  feel  it.** 

Again  the  speaker  paused  to  consider. 

After  a  moment  or  two  his  eyes  began  to  wander  aronnd  the  walls 
—as  if  some  design  had  suggested  itself,  and  he  was  searching  for 
the  means  to  carry  it  into  execution. 

Presently  an  object  came  under  his  gaze  that  appeared  to  fix  it. 

It  was  a  coil  of  rope,  or  thick  cord — that  had  been  thrown  over 
one  of  the  couplings  of  the  roof,  and  wau  hanging  within  reach  of  his 
band. 

"  That  be  the  best  way,  1  t^ite  it,"  said  he,  resuming  his  soliloquy, 


4  FDKISHMSNT  POSTPONBl>.  2A4 

"an*  I  dtf  Mj  this  '11  do.  It  appear  a  stoutish  piece  o*  sti  ing,"  b« 
continued,  dragging  the  cord  from  off  the  coupling ;  and  trying  iti 
strength  between  hand  and  heel.  "  Yes ;  it  be  strong  enough  to  hold 
%  bull  on  his  back — let  alone  a  pig  Uke  'im ;  an'  just  long  enough  to 
make  four  ties  o't.     It's  the  very  identical." 

Once  more  taking  out  his  knife,  he  cut  the  cord  into  four  nearly 
equal  pieces.  He  then  proceeded  to  carry  out  the  design  that  had 
shaped  itself  in  his  mind ;  and  which,  judging  by  his  satisfied  air  as 
he  set  about  it,  appeared  as  if  it  promised  to  extricate  him  from  his 
dilemma. 

This  was  simply  to  strap  the  drunken  man  to  his  truckle ;  and 
leave  him  there — until  his  restoration  to  a  state  of  sobriety  should 
render  him  sensible  of  the  chastisement  which  he.  Garth,  mtended  to 
return  and  administer ! 

As  the  wood-chopper  lay  with  arms  and  limbs  stretched  out  to 
their  full  length,  his  inviting  attitude  appeared  to  have  suggested  to 
Garth  this  mode  of  dealing  with  him. 

Chuckling  over  his  work,  with  the  quickness  of  an  expert  in  the 
handling  of  ropes  the  footpad  now  proceeded  to  the  accomplishment 
of  his  task. 

In  a  few  minutes'  time,  he  had  fastened  the  wrists  and  ankles  of 
the  sleeper  to  the  trestles  of  his  couch.  This  done,  he  stepped  back 
to  take  a  survey ;  and  as  he  stood  over  the  unconscious  captive,  with 
anns  a-kimbo,  he  broke  forth  into  a  fit  of  uproarious  laughter. 

**  An't  he  a  beauty,  as  he  lays  theer? "  said  he,  as  if  interrogating 
some  unseen  individual.  **  A  reg'lar  babe  o'  the  woods !  Only  wants 
the  robin-redbreasts  to  kiver  him  wi'  a  scatterin'  o'  beech  leaves  ! 
Now,"  added  he,  apostrophizing  the  fast-bound  sleeper,  "  ye  stay 
theer  till  I  coom  back  !  I  don't  say  it'll  be  inside  the  twenty-four 
hours ;  but  if  'tain't,  don't  be  impatient,  an'  fret  yerself  'bout  my 
absence.  I've  promised  I'll  coom ;  an'  ye  may  be  sure  o't.  For  the 
present.  Master  Wull  Walford,  I'll  bid  ye  a  good  mornin' !  " 

Saying  this,  and  placing  his  cudgel  in  a  corner — where  he  might 
readily  lay  hands  upon  it  again — Garth  stepped  forth  from  the  hut ; 
carefully  closed  the  door  behind  him ;  and  took  the  back  track  to- 
wards the  cottage  in  which  he  had  left  the  other  inebriate,  Dancey. 
Him  he  now  hoped  to  find  in  a  more  fit  state,  for  acting  as  his  co- 
partner in  a  scheme,  he  had  partially  conceived  for  the  rescue  of  hm 
impri«oned  patron. 


TEMPTING   A   SESfTEffilL. 


CHAPTER  XLL 


fSMPTiiro  ▲  siireum.. 


It  jet  winted  some  minutes  of  midnight,  on  that  gune  day,  whM 
three  individuals  were  seen  issuing  out  through  the  narrow  doorway 
of  Dick  Dancey's  cottage  and  starting  off  along  the  path  towards 
Bulstrode  Park. 

They  were  two  men  and  a  woman,  the  last  so  shrouded  in  cloak 
and  hood  that  her  age  could  not  be  guessed  at,  except  from  her  little 
form  and  agile  step,  both  proclaiming  her  to  be  young. 

The  cloak,  of  a  deep  crimson  color,  was  the  property  of  Bet  Dan* 
cey,  and  it  was  her  bold  figure  it  enyeloped. 

Her  companions  were  her  own  father  and  Gregory  Garth. 

As  the  narrow  path  prevented  them  from  walking  side  by  side, 
they  proceeded  in  single  file,  the  ex-footpad  in  the  lead,  Dancy  close 
following  upon  his  heels,  and  Bet  bringing  up  the  rear. 

This  arrangement  was  not  favorable  to  conversation  in  a  low  tone 
of  voice  J  and,  as  the  errand  on  which  they  were  going  abroad  at  that 
late  hour  of  night  might  be  supposed  to  require  secrecy,  by  a  tacit  un- 
derstanding between  them,  all  three  preserved  silence  throughout  the 
whole  time  they  were  traveling  along  the  forest  path. 

Wapsey's  Wood  was  separated  from  the  park  by  a  tract  of  pasture^ 
faiterspersed  with  patches  of  gorse  and  heather. 

Through  this  the  path  ran  direct  to  a  rustic  stile,  which  permitted 
a  passage  over  the  palings.  Inside  the  enclosure  was  a  broad  belt 
of  heavy  timber,  oak,  elm,  and  chestnut,  through  which  the  track 
continued  «^b  towards  the  dwelling. 

It  was  the  south-western  wing  of  (Sir  Marmaduke's  mansion  that 
was  thus  approached,  and  the  timber  once  traversed,  a  portion  of  the 
building  might  be  seen,  with  1  he  walls  enclosing  the  court-yard  at  the 
back.  The  garden,  with  its  fruit  trees  and  ornamental  shrubbery, 
•xtended  in  this  direction,  with  its  encircling  fence;  but  this  being 
constructed  in  the  style  of  a  moat,  and,  of  course,  sunk  below  th» 
irarfitoe  <tf  the  level,  was  not  visible  from  a  distance. 


TEMPTING   A   SENTINBL.  86? 

Ahmr  posing  silentlj  oyer  the  stile,  the  trio  of  night  promenadeil 
^rsook  the  ordinary  path,  and  kept  on  towards  the  house  in  a  cir- 
cuitous direction. 

Haying  trayersed  the  belt  of  timber  with  the  same  cautious  silence 
as  they  had  hitherto  obseryed,  they  arriyed  upon  its  edge,  opposite 
the  rear  of  the  mansion,  and  at  a  point  some  hundred  yards  distant 
from  the  moated  wall. 

There,  as  if  by  mutual  agreement,  they  came  to  a  stop,  itill  keep- 
ing under  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

If  this  precaution  was  for  the  purpose  of  concealment,  it  was  su- 
perfluous; for  the  night  was  pitch-dark,  like  that  which  had  preceded 
it,  and  in  the  sky  aboye  there  were  similar  indications  of  a  storm. 

It  was  in  effect  a  repetition  of  that  electric  congestion  that  had  dis- 
turbed the  atmosphere  on  the  previous  night,  to  be  in  like  manner 
dispersed  by  a  deluge  of  rain. 

Between  the  timber  and  the  shrubbery  that  surrounded  the  dwel- 
ling lay  a  piece  of  open  pasture,  with  tall  trees  standing  over  it,  at 
wide  intervals  apart. 

Had  it  been  daylight,  or  even  moonlight,  from  the  point  where  they 
bad  paused,  a  view  of  the  dwelling-house — comprising  the  buildings 
at  the  back,  and  a  portion  of  its  western  facade — could  have  been 
distinctly  obtained. 

As  it  was,  they  could  only  make  out  a  sombre  pile,  dimly  outlined 
against  the  dark  leaden  canopy  of  heaven  j  though  at  intervals,  as  the 
lightning  shot  across  the  sky,  the  walls  and  windows,  glancing  under 
its  momentary  glare,  could  be  traced  as  distinctly  as  by  day. 

After  arriving  at  their  post  of  observation,  the  three  individuals, 
who  had  come  from  Dancey's  cottage,  continued  for  a  time  to  preserve 
a  silence  that  spoke  of  some  important  design. 

The  eyes  of  all  three  were  turned  towards  the  dwelling;  and  as  the 
electric  blaze  illuminated  their  faces,  it  disclosed  the  features  of  all 
set  in  a  serious  expression. 

No  light  could  be  seen  in  any  of  the  windows  looking  westward ; 
and  at  that  hour,  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  the  inmates  of  the 
mansion  had  all  retired  to  rest.  But  there  were  also  windows  in  the 
outbuildings ;  and  a  faint  gleam  flickering  from  one  or  two  of  these 
told,  that,  either  some  of  the  domestics  of  the  establishment,  or  the 
troopers  quartered  upon  it,  were  still  burning  the  midnight  oil. 

The  great  gateway,  that  gave  entrance  into  the  court-yard,  wai 
flribU  tnm  this  point.    When  the  lightning  flashed,  they  could  dif 


168  TEMPrmG   a   ftl^NTDTBT. 

tingiiieh  the  huge  oaken  folding  doors,  and  see  that  they  Were  shut 
but  while  darkness  was  on,  a  tiny  stream  of  yellowish  light  pioject 
ing  through  an  aperture  underneath,  told  that  a  lamp  was  burning 
beliind  it,  inside  the  archway. 

There  was  no  sound  to  indicate  that  any  one  was  stirring  within 
the  establishment.  Occasionally  a  horse  could  be  heard  neighing  in 
the  stables,  in  answer  to  one  that  wandered  over  the  pastures  »f  the 
park — and  a  dog  or  two,  taking  their  cue  from  the  king  of  the  do- 
mestic quadrupeds,  would  for  some  seconds  keep  awake  the  hollow 
echoes  of  the  court-yard  with  their  resonant  baying. 

While  Garth  and  his  two  co-adjutors  were  still  listening,  the  great 
clock — from  the  tower  that  overtopped  the  mansion — tolled  the  hour 
of  twelve. 

"  Thee  be  quite  sure,  gurl,'*  said  the  former,  breaking  silence,  for 
the  first  time  since  leaviig  the  domicile  of  Dancey,  "  thee  be  quite 
sure  about  the  hour  ? " 

"  Quite  sure, "  replied  Bet,  repeating  the  words  of  her  interroga- 
tor. "  He  said  twelve.  He  said  he  would  be  on  guard  all  night ; 
but  from  twelve  till  two  would  be  his  turn  as  sentry  over  the  prison- 
er. The  room  is  just  yonder,  inside  the  archway — where  you  see  the 
light  coming  through." 

"  The  old  store-room  it  be,"  put  in  Dancey.  "  I  know  it  well. 
Many's  the  fat  buck  I  hae  carried  in  theer,  afore  Sir  Marmaduke  took 
a  notion  I  stealed  his  deer,  an'  gie  me  the  sack  from  looking  arter 
*em.    Gad !  them  were  better  times  for  Dick  Dancey  !  " 

"  Did  he  say  ye  war  to  come  exact  at  twelve  ? "  pursued  Garth, 
without  heeding  the  interpolation  of  the  discharged  keeper. 

"  No,"  replied  Bet,  "  not  exact  at  twelve,  but  soon  after.  He  told 
me  not  to  come  near,  until  the  guard  had  been  changed  awhile ;  and 
the  men  relieved — I  think  he  called  it — should  go  back  into  the  court- 
yard. " 

"  How  war  ye  to  kn*.  w  that  ? " 

"  He  said  he  would  set  the  lamp  down  upon  the  pavement,  close  to 
the  big  door.  "When  T  should  see  the  light  shining  out  at  the  botton^ 
I  was  to  tap  at  the  wicket,  and  he'd  open  it." 

"  Well,  it  be  shinin'  out  at  the  bottom  now,  and  has  been  for  som« 
time — before  the  clock  struck.    Is  that  the  way  he  ment  it  ?  '* 

"  No.  There's  a  hole  where  the  oats  go  out  and  iii.  He's  to  poj 
|h«  lamp  ther^." 


TEMFTING  A   SBNTmBL.  268 

*•  Then  it  han't  been  been  sot  there  yet.  We  must  keep  a  sharp 
V)ok  out  for't.  *Twon't  do  to  lose  a  precious  minnit.  Thee  be  siiri 
he  sayed,  he*d  lot  thee  speak  wi'  Master  Henry  ?  ** 

"  He  did ;  he  promised  me  faithfully — I  had  to  give  him  a  promiae.' 

"What  did  thee  promise  him,  my  gurl  ?  **  demanded  Dancey,  in  a 
Beiious  tone. 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  father,"  replied  Bet,  "nothing  much,  consid 
cring  what  I  did  it  for." 

"  Niver  mind  yer  daughter,  Dancey.  She  be  old  enough  to  taka 
care  o'  herself.     The  gurl'll  do  what's  right,  I  warrant  her." 

"  Ay,  and  that  wouldn't  have  been  any  good,"  pursued  Bet;  "  he'd 
never  have  consented  to  let  me  in,  but  that  he  believes  I'm  sent  by  a 
great  lady.    I  had  to  tell  him  that  story,  God  forgive  me !  " 

"It  be  only  a  white  lie,  gurl;"  said  Garth,  in  a  tone  of  encourage- 
ment. If  ivery  lie  as  be  told  war  in  as  good  a  cause,  they'd  all  be  for- 
given up  yonder,  I  dare  say." 

As  Garth  said  this,  he  turned  his  eyes  reverently  upward.  "  Ho !  " 
cried  he,  lowering  them  suddenly ;  and  directing  his  glance  towards 
the  gateway,  "  Yonner  it  be  !     The  lamp  is  i'  the  cat-hole !  " 

Under  one  of  the  folds  of  the  great  oaken  door — conspicuous  through 
the  aperture  already  spoken  of— a  disc  of  dull  yellowish  light  waa 
now  visible ;  which  on  scrutiny  could  be  seen  to  be  burning  inside  a 
lamp  of  not  very  translucent  glass.  It  was  one  of  the  common  stable 
lanthorns  of  the  establishment — now  doing  guard  duty  in  the  quar- 
ters of  the  cuirassier  troop. 

The  signal  was  too  marked  to  be  mistaken. 

The  girl,  on  perceiving  it,  only  waited  for  some  further  instructions 
—given  in  a  hurried  manner  by  her  two  companions ;  and  which  were 
but  the  impressive  re^tition  of  those  already  imparted,  previous  to 
tallying  forth  from  th,^  cottage. 

As  soon  as  she  had  received  them,  she  drew  her  cloak  closely  round 
her ;  and,  gliding  across  the  stretch  of  open  pasture,  arrived  in  front 
of  the  great  gateway — ^inside  of  which  was  imprisoned  the  man,  for 
whose  sake  she  was  about  to  risk  moral  shame ;  and  perhaps  person- 
al punishment 

In  front  of  the  wicket,  she  paused  for  some  minutes— partly  to 
recover  her  breath,  lost  in  the  hurried  traverse  across  the  pasture — 
and  partly  to  strengthen  her  resolution  of  carrying  through  the  task 
ahe  had  undertaken. 

Bold  as  was  the  heart  of  the  deer-stealer's  daughter,  it  was  nol 
without  ojisgivings  at  that  mcment.    Might  not  th^  soldier  have  sum- 


170  TEMPTING  A  SENTIirBL. 

moned  her  thither  to  betray  her  f  Might  he  not  have  contriyed 
design  to  get  her  withm  his  power  ?  P^haps  accuse  her  of  treason 
to  the  king :  •r,  by  the  threat  of  such  accusation,  endeavor  to  procurt 
her  compliance  with  some  love  proposals  he  had  already  half  hinted 
to  her? 

On  the  other  hand,  these  proposals  were  not  exactly  of  an  insulting 
nature.  There  had  been  a  certain  degree  of  soldierly  honor  in  th© 
intercourse  that  had  passed  between  herself  and  Withers — for  With- 
ers it  was  who  had  invited  her  to  share  his  hours  of  guard. 

She  had  slightly  known  the  young  man,  previous  to  his  enlistment 
into  the  corps  of  cuirassiers ;  and,  although  he  had  since  passed 
through  a  malignant  school,  she  could  scarcely  believe  him  so  bad  ai 
those  with  whom  he  was  associating. 

At  that  crisis,  however,  it  mattered  little  how  bad  he  might  be. 
She  had  gone  too  far  to  think  of  withdrawing  from  the  danger.  She 
was  too  near  the  man  she  loved — with  the  full  fierce  ardor  of  her  out- 
cast heart — ^too  near  to  go  back,  without  making  an  effort  to  see,  and 
if  possible,  save  him.  As  the  thought  of  hi8  danger  came  once  more 
before  her  mind,  she  threw  aside  all  regard  for  consequences;  and, 
advancing  with  fearless  step,  she  knocked  gently,  but  resolutely, 
■gainst  the  door. 

Close  succeeding  this  preconcerted  signal,  the  tread  of  a  trooper'f 
boot  was  heard  on  the  pavement  inside,  and  wkh  a  subdued  sound 
that  denoted  caution.    Some  one  was  approaching  the  wicket. 

On  reaching  the  door,  the  footfall  ceased  to  be  heard ;  and  the  wickel 
was  opened  with  a  silence  that  bespoke  expectancy,  on  the  part  of  him 
who  drew  back  the  bolt. 

Very  different  from  the  salutation  of  a  sentry — ^the  bold  brtksque 
"  Who  goes  there  ?  "—was  the  soft  whisper  that  fell  upon  the  ears 
of  the  person  claiming  admission. 

"  Is  it  you,  sweet  Betsey  ? "  asked  the  soldier ;  and  then,  without 
waiting  for  a  verbal  answer  to  his  interrogatory,  he  continued:  "  Come 
in,  dear  girl!  I  have  been  so  longing  for  twelve  o'clock,  I  thought 
it  would  never  strike  up  there.  I  believe  the  old  time-piece  be  out  o* 
tune.  It  an't  often  I'm  so  weary  for  my  turn  o'  the  night  guard, 
i^mein!" 

The  girl  having  got  over  the  slight  shivei  of  timidity — that  had 
temporarily  possessed  her — accepted  the  invitation;  and,  stepping 
over  the  threshold  of  the  wicket,  stood  inside  the  arched  entranc« 
which  formed  » <J0T(^e4  passage  between  the  ^ate  aod  t|i9  wurt-yard 


TTrMPTTNa   A   SKNTINBL.  ^^1 

fhifl  pftssftge  wa  only  illuminated  by  the  lantern ;  nMoh,  from  iti 
position  at  the  bottom  of  the  door,  trhere  it  had  been  placed  to  effect 
the  signal,  gave  out  but  a  feeble  light.  As  Withers,  at  that  moment, 
had  no  wish  for  a  better,  the  lamp  was  allowed  to  remain  where  h^ 
had  placed  it. 

There  was  enough  light  proceeding  from  it  to  show  the  side  door 
oonducting  into  the  store-room,  the  improvised  prison  of  Henry  Holt- 
spur,  which  was  the  chief  point  the  sentry  had  been  instructed  to 
guard.  Upon  this  door  the  eyes  of  his  visitor  became  directed,  as 
soon  as  she  entered  under  the  archway ;  and  to  it  her  glance  kept 
constantly  returning — despite  the  efforts  of  Withers  to  fix  it  upon 
himself. 

He  could  not  help  observing  the  air  of  abstraction  with  which  his 
supposed  sweetheart  listened  to  his  protestations  of  love.  He  noticed 
her  glance  repeatedly  directed  towards  the  door  of  the  store-room, 
with  an  eagerness  that  caused  him  some  chagrin ;  though  he  was 
only  annoyed,  that  so  little  attention  was  being  paid  to  his  own  bland« 
ishments.    « 

Had  he  suspected  the  true  cause  of  Bet  Dancey's  indifference,  ths 
door  of  Holtspur's  prison  would  not  have  turned  upon  its  binges  that 
night — at  least  not  during  Withers'  tow  of  guard. 

**  Gome,  Mistress  Betsey ! ''  said  he,  in  his  endeavors  to  secure  • 
greater  share  of  the  girls  attention.  "  Don't  talk  about  that  affair 
just  yet.  You  can  deliver  your  message  to  the  gentleman  by-and  by 
"Iwont  take  long,  I  suppose  ?  ** 

«*  Only  a  minute,"  replied  Bet, "  and  that's  just  why  I  want  to  haTS 
it  over." 

"Ah!  that,'*  said  Withers,  beginning  to  flatter  hunself  that  his 
sweetheart  was  impatient  to  get  through  with  the  more  disagreeable 
part  of  her  errand,  so  as  to  have  it  off  her  hands.  **  Ah  !  well ;  of 
•ourse,  Mistress  Betsey " 

**  You  know,"  interrupted  the  girl,  "  one  should  always  do  their 
business  first  ?    Business  first  and  pleasure  afterwards." 

**  Bah  !  "  muttered  Withers,  "  fAafan't always  the  best  way;  least- 
wise not  to  you  or  me.    Let  the  bizness  stand  over  a  bit." 

"  Oh !  no,  no ! "  answered  Betsey,  with  increasing  impatience.  "  II 
the  lady  who  sent  me  only  knew  that  I  was  trifling  in  this  way,  thera 
would  be  a  trouble.  I'd  not  get  the  reward  she  has  promised  me. 
You  can't  believe  how  impatient  sh^ll  be,  till  she  hears  the  answef 
Vm  to  take  back  to  her !  ** 


172  TSKPrma  A  sentinel. 

•*  Oh !  bother  her  hnpatience  !  Let  her  wait,  charming  Betsey  ?  ** 
•*  Nay,  Master  Withers ;  listen  to  reason.  Suppose  it  was  you  wh« 
were  in  prison ;  and  some  one  wanted  to  hear  from  you ;  myself  for 
instance.  "Would  you  say,  *let  her  wait,*  then?  I  pray  you,  don't 
detain  me  now :  you  can  see  me  to-morrow.  Come  to  the  cottage ; 
and  stay  as  long  as  you  Uke.  Father  will  be  from  home ;  and  you 
may  talk  as  much  nonsense  as  you  have  a  mind  to." 

"  What  a  seducing  Syren  !  "  said  her  suitor,  evidently  gratified  at 
the  pretty  programme  thus  sketched  out  for  him.  "  Well !  I  agree  to 
it.  But  you  must  givome  a  kiss  before  you  go  in ;  and  promise  me 
another  on  your  coming  out." 

"  With  all  my  heart !  '*  readily  responded  the  representative  of  Maid 
Marian.    "  You're  welcome  to  a  kiss.    Take  it." 

And,  without  waiting  for  Withers  to  fling  his  arms  around  her,  or 
even  meet  her  half  way,  she  craned  her  nedk  forward,  and  pressed 
her  protruded  hps  against  the  rough  cheek  of  the  trooper. 

"  There  now !  "  was  the  ejaculation  that  accompanied  the  loud 
smacking  noise  caused  by  the  contact,  "will  that  satisfy^you?" 

"  No  dear  Betsey ;  nor  a  hundred  thousand  of  the  same.  With 
fluch  sweetness  a  man  would  never  be  satisfied ;  but  always  awantin* 
more.  Ah !  they  may  talk  about  them  girls  in  Flanders.  QV  me  the 
kiss  o'  a  English  lass.    It's  got  the  jiniwine  flavor  about  it." 

"  All  flattery  !  Come  now  !  keep  your  promise — if  you  expect  me 
to  keep  mine,  when  I  come  out  again." 

"  I'll  do  it,  sweet.  But  hark'ee  !  Don't  make  no  noise  inside. 
[f  the  guard  corporal  should  come  round  and  find  what's  goin'  on, 
he'd  change  me  from  a  sentry  to  a  prisoner — in  less  time  than  it  'ud 
take  to  tell  what's  o'clock.  Ah !  now ;  one  more  afore  you  go  in  ? " 
The  girl,  without  hesitation,  a  second  time  delivered  her  cheek  to 
be  kissed  by  the  ready  lips  of  her  soldier  lover ;  and  then,  muttering 
Bomething  like  a  promise — to  permit  more  than  one  repetition  of  the 
dose  when  she  should  come  out  again — the  store-room  door  wtu, 
opened  to  her ;  and,  without  further  interruption,  she  was  admitted 
Vfthin  the  i»recinct  of  Holtspur's  prison. 


IfUTTTAL   DI8TBITBT.  ^^ 


CHAPTER  XLIL 


]n7T(7AL   DISTBUSf. 


During  all  that  day  had  the  imprisoned  patriot  been  chafing  under 
hid  confinement.  Since  his  capture  he  had  been  treated  like  a  crim- 
inal— housed  and  fed,  as  if  he  were  a  criminal  already  convicted. 

There  was  no  furniture  in  the  small  apartment  in  which  he  had 
been  locked  up.  Only  some  articles  of  storage  and  lumber ;  but 
neither  chair,  table,  nor  bed.  A  rough  bench  was  the  substitute  for 
all  these.  On  this  he  sat,  sometimes  rechned ;  though  he  did  not 
often  change  from  one  attitude  to  the  other — on  account  of  the  diffi- 
culty attending  the  operation ;  for  like  a  criminal  was  he  also  bound. 
His  wrists  were  crossed  behind  his  back,  and  there  tightly  tied ;  wliile 
as  additional  security  against  any  attempt  to  escape,  his  ankles  were 
lashed  together  by  a  piece  of  splicing  rope. 

He  had  made  no  effort  to  free  himself.  The  thing  appeared  hope- 
'jBSS.  Even  could  he  have  got  rid  of  his  rope  fastenings,  there  was  » 
locked  door,  with  a  sentry  all  the  time  standing,  or  pacing,  outside. 

Though  keenly  feeling  the  indignity  thus  put  upon  him — and  sen- 
sible of  the  great  danger  in  which  his  life  was  now  placed — he  had 
other  thoughts  that  were  still  more  bitter  to  bear. 

Marion  Wade  was  the  object  of  these  reflections — she,  and  her 
white  gauntlet.  Not  that  one,  he  had  himself  so  proudly  worn ;  but 
its  fellow,  which  he  had  seen  so  tauntingly  set  on  the  helmet  of  the 
tuirassier  captain. 

AU  day  long — and  it  had  appeared  of  endless  length — as  well  as 
during  the  hours  of  the  night  already  passed,  scarce  for  a  moment 
had  his  mind  been  able  to  escape  from  that  harrassing  thought. 

Notwithstanding  his  efibrts  to  repudiate  the  suspicion — despite  that 
reckless  disavowal  of  it  before  Scarthe  himself— he  could  not  hinder 
its  recurrence.  A  hundred  times  did  he  ask  himself  the  question : 
whether  Scarthe  had  come  surreptitiously  by  the  glove,  or  whether 
it  had  been  given  him  as  a  love  token,  like  his  own  } 

Over  and  over  did  he  review  the  various  circumstances  that  had 
*rAnspired  between  himself  and  Marion  Wade;  from  the  hour  whe^ 


riding  Usttessf  J  ftbng  the  forest  road,  he  had  been  startled  into  • 
quick  surprise  a^  the  dght  of  her  peerless  beautj — a  surprise  as  rap- 
idly changing  into  admiration  ^Then  the  after  encounters  upon  the 
same  road — which  might  have  appeared  accidental  to  any  other  mind 
than  one  quickened  Tdth  lovo;  the  dropping  of  the  gauntlet,  that 
might  have  been  deemed  a  thing  of  chance,  but  for  the  after  inter" 
▼lew,  and  confession  that  it  was  design  ;  and  those  fervent  speeches, 
that  had  passed  between  them — were  they  not  vows,  springing  from 
the  profoundest  depths  of  her  soul  ?  And  had  she  not,  on  that  same 
occasion,  made  to  him  a  complete  surrender  of  her  heart — ^as  he  to 
her  ?  If  words  were  to  be  believed,  he  had  won  the  heart  of  Marion 
Wade.    How  could  he  doubt  it  ? 

He  could,  and  did  doubt;  not  that  she  had  spoken  love  words  to 
him,  and  listened  to  his,  with  apparent  complaisance.  He  could  not 
do»^t  that — unless  under  the  belief  that  he  had  been  dreaming.  His 
Uicertainty  was  of  a  different  character — far  more  unpleasant.  It 
was  the  suspicion  that  Marion  Wade  could  give  love-looks,  speak 
love-words,  and  drop  love-tokens  at  pleasure !  That  which  she  had 
done  to  him,  she  might  do  to  another.  In  short  he  had  given  way  to 
£b»  belief  that  she  had  been  coquetting  with  Am 

Of  all  the  pangs  that  passion  may  inflict  upon  the  heart  of  man, 
this  is  the  most  poignant.  Love,  unrequited,  stings  sharply  enough; 
but  when  it  has  been  promised  requital — caressed  to  full  fervor,  and 
deluded  by  a  pseudo-reciprocation — ^afterwards  to  have  its  dust-be- 
dimmed  eyes  open  to  the  delusion — then  indeed  does  jealousy  become 
what  it  has  been  the  fashion  to  call  it — a  monster^ 

There  is  no  cruelty  to  be  compared  with  that  of  the  coquette. 

Was  Marion  Wade  one  of  this  class  ? 

A  hundred  times  did  Holtspo*  ask  the  question.  A  hundred  timet 
did  he  repudiate  the  suspicion;  but,  alas  !  as  often  did  a  voice  speak- 
faig  harshly  within  his  soul  give  forth  the  response : — 

*«  It  is  possible." 

Ay,  and  probable  too !     So  ran  his  imaginings. 

Perhaps  its  probability  was  more  conceivable  to  the  mind  9f  Hsary 
Holtspur,  from  a  sad  experience  of  woman's  deceitfulness,  that  had 
elouded  the  sky  of  his  early  life— just  at  that  period  when  the  sun  oi 
bis  fortune  was  ascending  towards  its  zenith. 

"  Surely,"  said  he — for  the  twentieth  time  indulging  in  the  conjec- 
lure,  **  she  must  know  that  I  am  here  ?  She  cannot  help  knowing 
H.     And  x«i»  no  messa^  from  her— not  one  froi4  of  inqobj !    | 


276 

fioutd  not  be  more  neglected  in  a  dungeon  of  the  Inquisition  Is  it 
that  they  are  hindered — forbidden  communication  with  me  ?  I  would 
»in  believe  it  so.  They  cannot  have  so  suddenly  abandoned  a  friend- 
ihip  commencing  so  cordially,  and  which,  though  only  of  yesterday, 
promised  to  be  permanent  ?  Why  do  they,  all  at  once,  thus  coldly 
turn  from  me  ? 

"  Ah !  what  have  men  not  done — ^what  will  they  not  do,  to  stand 
clear  of  the  ruin  that  threatens  to  fall  ?  It  may  be  that  one  and  all 
of  them  have  repudiated  me,  she,  too,  disclaiming  a  connection  that 
could  but  disgrace  her  ? 

"  Perhaps  even  now,  on  the  other  side  of  these  massive  walls,  there 
is  a  scene  of  gayety  in  which  all  are  taking  part,  both  the  family  and 
its  guests  ?  Perhaps  at  this  moment  she  may  be  the  gayest  and  hap- 
piest of  all  ?  Her  new  fancy  seated  by  her  side,  or  hovering  around 
her,  whispering  honeyed  speeches  into  her  ear,  beguiling  her  with 
those  words  of  wickedness,  whose  usage  he  well  understands?  And 
ihbi,  all  the  while,  smiling  and  listening?    Oh  !  ** 

The  final  exclamation  was  uttered  in  a  groan,  betraying  how  pain- 
Ail  was  the  picture  which  his  jealous  fancy  had  conjured  up. 

And  a  fsmcj  it  was. 

Could  his  eye  at  that  moment  have  pierced  the  massive  walls,  mett- 
tioned  in  his  soliloquy,  he  might  have  discovered  how  unjust,  how 
groundless,  were  his  hypothetical  accusations.  He  would  have  seen 
Marion  Wade  a  su£ferer  like  himself,  suffering  from  almost  a  similar 
cause. 

She  was  in  her  sleeping  chamber,  and  alone.  She  had  been  there 
for  hours ;  but  still  her  couch  remained  unpressed.  The  silken 
coverlet  lay  smoothly  over  the  pUlow  of  down,  without  any  sign  oi 
having  been  upturned.  Nor  was  there  in  her  attitude  aught  that 
would  indicate  an  intention  of  retiring  to  that  luxurious  place  of  re- 
pose. 

On  the  night  before,  in  the  same  chamber,  had  she  been  equally  the 
▼ictim  of  unrest,  though  not  to  the  same  degree.  Then  had  she  been 
only  apprehensive  of  danger  to  her  lover;  but  still  undisturbed  by 
%  doubt  of  his  fidelity.  Now  the  danger  had  descended — the  doubt 
had  arisen.  Then  her  apprehensions  had  been  relieved ;  and  she 
had  fallen  into  a  slumber — so  profound,  that  the  hoof-strokes  of  a 
single  horse — heard,  half  an  hour  afterwards,  passing  over  the  same 
path  traversed  by  Scarthe  and  his  subaltern — did  not  awake  her 
Neither  had  the  trampling  of  thirty  steeds  ridden  by  tl^ie  same  n'lm 


m 

ber  of  steel-clad  cuirassiers,  with  tinkling  spurs  and  clinking  sabrei 
—as  several  hours  after  they  filed  under  the  casement  of  her  cham 
ber,  taking   their  departure  from  the  park. 

It  was  after  daybreak  on  that  morning  when  Marion  Wade  awok« 
from  a  prolonged  slumber.  Then  only  on  hearing  noises  without, 
that  might  have  aroused  even  the  heaviest  sleeper ;  the  braying  of  a 
bugle — the  quick  word  of  command  loudly  pronounced,  the  shrill 
neighing  of  horses — ^in  short,  all  those  sounds  that  indicate  the  prox- 
imity of  a  cohort  of  cavalry. 

Marion  sprang  from  her  couch,  her  cousin  close  following  her 
example. 

They  stood  trembling  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Modesty  forbade 
a  nearer  approach  to  the  window ;  while  curiosity,  and,  in  the  mind  of 
Marion,  a  far  stronger  sentiment,  urged  them  towards  it. 

The  presentimen  t  was  upon  her,  then  more  impressive  than  ever. 
She  could  not  resist  it ;  and,  snatching  the  first  garment  that  came 
within  reach — a  scarf  it  chanced  to  be — she  threw  it  over  her 
shoulders,  already  enrobed  in  her  ample  chevelure  of  golden  hair, 
and  silently  glided  into  the  embayment  of  the  window. 

Not  long  srtayed  she  there.  The  terrible  tableau,  that  came  under 
her  eyes,  prevented  her  from  protracting  that  daring  reconnoissance. 

A  squadron  of  cuirassiers,  formed  in  Hue,  with  the  heads  of  their 
horses  turned  towards  the  window — on  the  right  flank,  their  captain, 
Richard  Scarthe — on  the  W*  his  subaltern,  Stubbs — this  was  the 
spectacle  presented  to  her  ;  i«w. 

In  the  centre — and  there  alone  had  dwelt  the  glance  of  Marion 
Wade — was  a  man  mounted  upon  a  coal-black  horse — conspicuous 
above  all  the  rest  for  noble  mien,  and  proud  bearing — but,  alas ! 
conspicuous  also  as  a  prisoner. 

It  required  no  scrutiny  to  tell  who  he  was — at  least  on  the  part  oi 
Marion  Wade  A  single  glance  had  been  suflBcient  for  the  recogni- 
tion of  Henry  Haltspur. 

The  long  look  she  gave  was  scarce  one  of  inquiry.  Its  object  was 
not  to  identify  the  prisoner.  It  was  not  directed  either  upon  hia 
figure,  or  his  face ;  but  upon  a  spray  of  withered  red  blossoms  that 
huTjg  drooping  over  the  brim  of  his  beaver. 

Marion  Wade  receded  from  the  window  with  as  much  suddenness, 
as  when,  some  hours  before,  her  modesty  had  taken  alarm  at  the  ex- 
posing flash  of  the  electric  light. 

Far  different,  however,  was  the  fashion  of  her  retreat.  JBhe  fel 
flUating  upon  the  floor  I 


2n 

With  such  a  shaft  rankling  in  her  bosom,  no  woadcr  that  Hejioi 
Wade  had  now  no  inclination  for  sleep ;  and  showed  no  signs  ai  aa 
intention  to  retire  to  her  couch. 

On  the  contrary,  she  was  equipped  as  for  a  journey — at  all  events, 
as  if  she  intended  going  forth  into  the  open  air.  A  dark  velvet  cloak 
of  large  dimensions  completely  shrouded  her  figure ;  while  her  head 
was  enveloped  in  a  hood,  which,  by  means  of  its  drawstring,  almost 
concealed  her  face — ^at  the  same  time  covering  those  luxuriant  locks, 
like  streams  of  molten  gold,  that  gave  a  sort  of  divine  charactei  to 
her  countenance. 

Had  her  face  been  seen  at  that  moment,  it  would  have  appeared 
pale — that  is,  paler  than  its  wont :  for  the  cheeks  of  Marion  Wado 
could  never  have  shown  colorless.  Even  in  death  one  might  have 
fancied  they  would  preserve  that  luminous  roseate  hue ;  which,  like 
a  halo,  seemed  constantly  suspended  over  her  countenance. 

Her  eyes  more  truthfully  told  the  tale.  They  were  swollen,  and 
scarce  dried  of  recent  tears.  Only  one  had  seen  them  fall.  Only  one 
— her  cousin  Lora — knew  why  Marion  "Wade  had  been  weeping. 
She  had  kept  her  chamber  all  the  day,  with  Lora  as  her  companion ; 
but  long  before  midnight,  the  latter  had  been  desired  to  withdraw, 
and  leave  her  alone.  Lora  had  not  been  made  the  confidant  of  all 
her  secrets.     There  was  one  she  had  reserved. 

All  day  had  she  been  thinking  over  the  spectacle  of  the  morning. 
The  man  she  loved,  worshiped  with  all  the  warm  wild  fervor  of  her 
maiden  heart,  that  man  a  prisoner  in  the  power  of  a  cruel  and  vin- 
dictive enemy ;  paraded  before  all  the  world — before  herself—as  a 
criminal;  rudely  dragged  along  by  a  guard  of  ruffianly  soldiers; 
disgraced — no,  not  disgraced,  for  such  treatment  could  not  briag 
disgrace  upon  a  noble  patriot — but  in  danger  of  his  life  ! 

And  yet  it  was  not  this  that  had  drawn  from  the  eyes  of  Marion 
Wa<,\3  those  hot  scalding  tears  I  It  was  not  this  which  had  caused 
her  to  fall  fainting  upon  the  floor.  Alas  !  no.  Both  the  tears  and 
the  syncope  had  a  difierent  origin  than  the  beholding  Henry  Holt  spur 
In  bonds.  They  were  not  tears  of  sympathy,  but  of  bitterness — 
springing  from  the  fountain  of  love,  that  had  become  defiled  with 
jealousy.  They  could  be  traced  to  those  flowers,  worn  upon  th<i 
beaver  of  the  black  horseman.  The  faded  blossoms  had  Jbeen  seen ; 
and,  in  Marion's  beguiled  imagination,  had  been  recognized."^ 

To  think  he  should  be  wearing  them,  aud  at  such  a  time !  In  th* 
hour  of  his  adversity;  as  if  to  sanctify  them  by  a  greater  regard 


art 

It  wfts  this  thought  that  had  momentarily  deprired  Marion  Wada 
of  her  senses. 

She  had  recovered  them;  but  not  along  with  them  her  tranquillity 
of  spirit. 

To  her  that  day  had  been  one  of  fearful  reflections.  Every  hour 
had  its  chapter  of  stinging  thoughts — every  minute  its  miserablt 
emotion. 

Love  and  jealousy — sympathy  and  spite — had  alternated  all  day 
long;  each  in  turn  holding  possession  of  her  tortured  soul. 

It  was  now  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  the  wicked  passions  had  8u<v 
cumbed :  the  virtuous  emotions  had  triumphed.  Love  and  sympathy 
were  in  the  ascendant ! 

Marion  Wade  was  upon  the  eve  of  attempting  the  accomplishment 
of  a  purpose  that  would  prove,  not  only  the  depth  of  her  love,  but  iti 
noble  unselfishness. 

Gould  Holtspur  have  beheld  her  at  this  moment — could  he  havt 
guessed  her  design — he  would  have  withheld  that  recrimination,  which 
in  the  bittemesa  of  spirit  he  had  permitted  to  pass  from  his  lips. 


OHAPTEBXLIIL 


A  miBOV  TIBITOm. 


It  has  been  deemed  strange  that  two  individuals  should  oonoei^ 
the  same  thought,  at  the  same  instant  of  time.  Those  who  art 
skilled  in  psychology  will  not  be  surprised  by  such  coincidence. 

Like  circumstances  produce  like  results,  in  the  world  of  mind,  as 
to  that  of  matter ;  and  an  instance  may  be  found  in  the  similar  idea 
^nceived  at  the  same  time  by  Marion  Wade  and  Elizabeth  Dancey 
a  lady  of  high  rank,  and  a  lass  of  low  degree. 

Both  were  in  love  with  t\»  same  man — Henry  Holtspur,  tht 
prisoner. 


A  PRISON  VIBITOB.  271 

Both  hftd  bethought  them  of  a  plan  for  delivering  him  2rom  hii 
prison ;  and  if  there  was  anything  singular,  it  was,  that  their  schemes 
were  in  almost  exact  correspondence. 

The  velvet-hooded  cloak  under  which  was  concealed  the  face  and 
form  of  Marion  Wade  had  been  put  on  with  the  same  design,  aa 
that  garment,  of  somewhat  similar  make,  but  coarser  material,  that 
shrouded  the  shape  of  Dick  Dancey's  daughter. 

Both  were  bent  upon  one  and  the  same  errand. 

There  may  have  been  some  difference  as  to  the  means  and  hopes 
directed  towards  its  accomplishment ;  but  none  fts  to  the  motive — 
none  as  to  the  time  intended  for  its  trial. 

Both  had  chosen  the  hour  of  midnight. 

Neither  was  this  an  accidental  coincidence. 

No  more  than  Bet  Dancey,  had  Marion  Wade  trusted  to  chance  M 
to  the  hour  for  making  the  attempt. 

During  the  day  she  had  made  her  inquiries ;  and  resolved  upon 
her  measures. 

Through  the  medium  of  a  confidential  maid — also  an  old  acquain- 
tance of  the  soldier  Withers — she  had  ascertained  that  the  latter 
would  be  on  post  over  the  prisoner  from  twelve  till  two  at  night. 

She  had  learnt,  moreover,  some  things  about  the  character  and 
disposition  of  this  trustworthy  sentinel — leading  her  to  believe  that 
he  would  not  prove  an  exception  to  the  general  rule  of  mankind ; 
and  that  gold  would  overcome  his  scruples — if  administered  in  suffi- 
cient quantity.    For  this  sufficiency  had  she  provided. 

Even  without  regard  to  these  considerations,  the  hour  of  midnight 
was  one  that  might  have  been  chosen  on  its  own  account. 

All  the  dwellers  within  the  mansion — as  well  as  its  stranger 
guests — would  be  then  abed;  and  there  would  be  less  chance  of  her 
design  being  frustrated  by  discovery. 

It  was  a  mere  accident  that  caused  a  difference  of  some  ten 
minutes  of  time,  between  the  arrival  of  his  two  deliverers  at  the 
door  of  Holtspur's  prison;  and  in  this,  the  lass  had  gained  the 
advantage  over  the  lady. 

At  the  moment  when  Bet  Dancey  was  standing  before  the  wicket, 
Marion  Wade  was  stealing  softly  from  her  chamber  to  make  her  way 
through  darkness  down  the  great  staircase,  and  along  the  silent  halls 
and  corridors  of  the  paternal  mansion. 

Inside  his  silent  cell,  Holtspur  had  heard  the  clock  strike  the  hour 
of  twelve,  in  solemn  lugubrious  tones — too  consonant  with  his  own 
thoughts.    It  was  the  twelve  of  midnight. 


280 

"Iwish  it  were  twelve  of  to-morrow's  nocn/^  soliloquiased  h% 
when  the  tolling  had  ceased.  "  If  I  have  correctly  mterpreted  thi 
conversation  I  overheard  this  morning,  ere  that  hour,  I  shall  be  far 
from  this  place.  So — ^the  Tower  is  my  destination.  After  that—  ay, 
what  after  that  ?  Perhaps — the  block  ?  Why  fear  I  to  pronounce 
the  word  ?  I  may  as  well  look  it  boldly  in  the  face ;  for  I  know  that 
the  vengeance  of  that  vile  woman — that  has  pursued  me  all  througii 
life — since  she  could  not  have  my  heart,  will  be  satisfied  with  nothing 
less  than  my  head.  It  is  Aer  hand  I  recognize  in  this — her  hand 
that  penned  the  postscript  to  that  dispatch;  or,  at  all  events,  it  was 
she  who  dictated  it. 

"  I  wish  it  were  the  hour  to  depart  hence.  There  can  be  no  dun 
geon  in  the  Tower  so  terrible  as  this — on  one  side  of  the  wall  hell, 
on  the  other  side  paradise.  I  can  think  only  of  paradise  when 
Marion  is  present.  She  so  dear  to  me — so  near  to  me — almost 
breathing  the  same  atmosphere :  and  yet  oblivious  of  my  existence ! 
Perhaps  

"  Ha !  footsteps  stirring  outside  ?  The  sentry  talking  to  some  one  ! 
'Tis  the  voice  of  a  woman ! 

"  One  of  the  domestics  of  the  mansion,  I  suppose,  who  has  stolen 
forth  to  exchange  the  day's  gossip  with  the  guard  ?  *Tis  a  late  hour 
for  the  girl  to  be  gadding ;  but  perhaps  'tis  the  hour  of  her  choice  ? 
I  can  envy  this  wench  and  her  soldier  sweetheart  their  easy  oppor- 
timities.  Perhaps  equally  to  be  envied  is  the  free  and  easy  fashion 
with  which  they  enter  upon  a  love  affair,  and  escape  out  of  it  ?  With 
them  there  is  no  such  terrible  contingency  as  a  broken  heart.  To 
morrow  he  may  be  gone ;  and  the  day  after  she  will  be  as  gay  as  ever ! 

"  How  different  with  a  passion  like  mine !  Absence  can  have  no 
effect  upon  it.  Not  even  the  terrors  of  the  Tower  can  bring  it  to  a 
termination.  It  will  end  only  under  the  ax  of  the  executioner— if 
that  is  to  be  my  fate. 

"  These  gossips  are  getting  nearer  the  door.  Jhough  they  art 
talking  in  a  low  tone,  I  might  hear  what  they  say,  by  placing  my  ear 
to  the  key-hole.  I  have  no  inclination  to  make  myself  the  deposi 
tory  of  their  coarse  love  secrets ;  but  perhaps  I  may  hear  something 
of  myself,  or  of  her  I  That  may  make  it  worth  my  while  to  play 
eavesdropper." 

The  prisoner  rose  from  his  seat ;  and  succeeded  in  getting  himself 
into  an  erect  attitude.  But  all  at  once  he  sank  upon  the  bench ;  and 
only  by  adroitly  balancing  his  body  did  he  save  himself  fron 
fidling  opoa  the  flooL 


m 

*By  the  good  St.  Vitus !  "  he  exclaimed,  rather  amused  at  hia 
misadventure;  " I  had  forgotten  that  my  feet  were  not  free.  Aftei 
all,  what  I  should  iiear  night  not  be  worth  the  effort.  I'll  leav« 
them  to  keep  their  secrets — whatever  they  be — to  themselves." 

So  resolving,  he  resumed  his  sedentary  attitude  upon  the  bench, 
and  remained  silent ;  but  as  before,  listening. 

By  this,  the  speakers  had  approached  nearer  to  the  door ;  and 
thsir  words  could  now  be  distinctly  heard  inside  the  store-room. 

"So!"  resumed  Holtspur,  after  listening  for  a  short  while; 
•*  lovers,  as  I  suspected.  He  talks  of  kissing  her  !  I  can  hear  that 
word  above  all  the  others.  Ho  !  they  are  pressing  against  the  door  ! 
What !     Surely  the  key  turns  in  the  lock  ?     Can  they  be  coming  in  ? " 

The  question  was  answered  by  the  unlocking  of  the  door :  which 
upon  the  next  instant  swung  silently  upon  its  hinges,  until  it  stood 
half  open.  Against  the  glimmer  of  the  lamp  outside,  Holtspur  could 
dimly  distinguish  two  forms — one  of  them  a  woman. 

The  male  figure  was  the  nearer  one ;  though  the  woman  was  closa 
behind. 

On  opening  the  door,  the  sentry  had  thrust  his  head  inside  the 
room ;  but  evidently  without  any  design  of  introducing  his  body. 

"Are  you  sleepin*,  master?  "  interrogated  he,  speaking  in  a  low 
tone  that  did  not  seem  unkindly,  and  only  a  little  louder  than  a 
whisper. 

"No,"  replied  the  prisoner,  answering  the  man  frankly,  while 
Imitating  his  cautious  tone. 

"  All  right,  then  ! "  said  the  sentry ;  "  for  there  be  a  lady  here  as 
wants  to  have  a  word  with  ye ;  an'  as  I  s 'pose  ye  don't  care  to  do 
yer  talkin'  i'  the  dark,  I'll  lend  ye  my  lamp  for  a  bit.  But  don't 
make  yer  di'logue  a  long  un;  there  be  danger  in  what  I'm  doin'." 

So  saying,  the  trooper  walked  back  into  the  archway,  for  the 
purpose  of  fetching  his  lamp;  while  the  woman  pushing  past  him, 
itepped  inside  the  room. 

As  the  phrase  "  there  be  a  lady,"  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  sentinel, 
the  heart  of  Henry  Holtspur  throbbed  quick  within  his  bosom. 
Sweet  thoughts  welled  up  at  the  words. 

Could  he  have  been  mistaken  in  believing  his  midnight  visitor  a 
domestic  of  the  mansion  ?     Might  it  not  be  its  mistress  ? 

In  the  dim  light  he  saw  a  female  form  closely  wrapped  in  hood 
and  cloak.  In  that  guise,  she  might  be  either  a  peasant  or  a  princess 
The  figure  was  tall,  upright,  commanding.  Such  was  that  of 
ifiarion  Wade  * 


183 

Holtspnr's  fond  fancy  was  destined  to  a  short  indulgence.  Tin 
lamp  was  passed  through  the  half-opened  door,  and  placed  upon  i 
stool  that  stood  near.  Its  glare  fell  upon  the  form  of  his  visitor- 
lighting  up  a  crimson  cloak — lighting  up  features  of  a  gipsy  t3rp«, 
w^ith  dark,  flashing  eyes — beautiful  features,  it  is  true,  but  altogether 
anUke  the  angeUc  countenance  he  had  been  conjuring  up— the  coui>' 
lenance  of  Marion  Wade. 

"  It  was  not  she— only  Maid  Marian !  " 

Holtspur's  hopeful  glance  suddenly  changed  to  one  of  disappoint- 
ment, as  he  identified  the  daughter  of  the  deerstealer.  Perhaps  it 
was  well  for  him — ^for  both — that  Betsey  did  not  observe  the  trans* 
formation.  The  obscure  light  of  the  lamp  hindered  the  girl  from 
having  a  chagrin,  equal,  if  not  greater,  than  his. 

"  Mistress  Betsey !  **  he  exclaimed,  on  recovering  from  the  first 
flutter  of  his  surprise.  "  You  here !  What  has  brought  you  to  my 
prison.?" 

"  Hush !  "  ejaculated  the  girl,  moving  rapidly  forward  from  the 
door — which  the  sentry  had  taken  the  precaution  to  shut  behind 
him.  "Speak  only  in  whispers!  IVe  come  to  save  you — to  get 
you  out  of  this  ugly  place.'* 

"  But  how  ?  'Tis  not  possible,  I  fear  ?  The  door  is  guarded— 
the  sentry  is  outside  ?    I  could  not  go  forth  without  being  seen  ?  " 

"You  will  be  seen — that's  true.  But  it  won't  matter  a  bit. 
If  you'll  follow  my  directions,  you'll  get  out  without  being  hin- 
dered. That's  sufficient.  Father  and  Master  Garth  planned  it  all 
before  we  left  home.  They  are  waiting  for  you  on  the  edge  of  the 
waod — up  the  hill,  just  behind  the  house." 

"'*  Ah  !  a  plan  for  me  to  escape  ?    What  is  it,  my  brave  Betsey  ?  " 

"  You're  to  take  my  cloak.  It's  a  long  one;  and  will  reach  nigh 
down  to  your  feet.  But,  for  fear  it  wouldn't,  I  brought  an  extra 
skirt  along  with  me.    Here  it  is." 

Saying  this,  the  girl  whipped  the  cloak  from  her  shoulders — dis- 
closing at  the  same  time  a  skirt  of  some  kind  of  coarse  stufl^ 
which  she  had  been  carrying  under  her  arm. 

"  Now,  sir ! "  she  continued,  in  a  tone  of  urgency;  "on  with  them 
as  quick  as  you  can;  for  he  may  get  impatient,  and  want  to  come 
in." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Holtspur,  whose  surprise  at  the  proposa 
was  only  equaled  by  admiration  of  her  who  had  made  it.  "  And 
do  vou  mean  that  I  am  to  pass  out — disguised  in  your  garments-" 
and  leave  you  here  ? " 


''Of  oouna  I  do.  Wliat  other  way  is  there ?  We  can't  both  gt 
•at.  He'd  stopyou  for  a  certainty;  and  me  too,  maybe,  for  trying 
to  get  you  away.    You  must  go  out  alone,** 

"And  leave  you  behind — to  be  punished  for  aiding  me  to  escape? 
No,  generous  girl !    I  had  rather  die,  than  do  that." 

**  Oh,  sir !  don't  talk  in  that  foolish  way.  Pray  go  as  I  tell  you 
to.  Have  no  fear  for  me !  They  can't  do  much  to  a  girl  that's  got 
nothing  to  lose.  Besides,  I  don't  feel  much  afeared  of  getting  him 
to  pass  me  out  afterwards.  It'll  be  no  good  his  keeping  me  in. 
That  won't  save  him  from  whateyer  they  may  do  to  him." 

The  him  thus  pointedly  alluded  to  was  the  amorous  sentry;  who 
was  Just  then  heard  passing  to  and  fro  upon  his  round,  with  a  step 
that  denoted  impatience. 

•*  Oh,  sir,  go !  I  beg  of  you  go — or — I — ^We  may  neyer  see  you 
•gMn." 

There  was  a  tone  of  sadness  in  the  entreaty,  which  Holtspur 
could  hardly  have  failed  to  notice.  But  the  appeal  had  shaken  his 
resolution  to  remain.  From  what  she  had  said,  he  saw  that  in  all 
probability  the  girl  would  get  clear,  or  with  some  slight  punishment. 
Perhaps  she  might  succeed  in  deceiving  the  sentry  still  farther,  and 
•scape  without  difficulty.  Holtspur  knew  she  was  clever  and  quick- 
witted. 

**  Never  fear  for  me,  sir !  "  said  she,  as  if  interpreting  his  thoughts. 
**!  can  manage  him.  He'U  do  what  I  want  him  to;  I  know  he 
wiU." 

"If  I  thought  that " 

*'  Ton  may  think  it,"  responded  she,  at  the  same  time  cuttmg  the 
oords  that  bound  the  prisoner;  " you  may  be  sure  of  it.  Leave  him 
to  me.  Now,  sir,  the  cloak.  No,  the  skirt  first.  That's  the  way 
|o  fix  it.  Now  the  cloak.  Here !  put  your  head  into  the  hood — 
inw  it  well  over  your  face.  That'll  do.  When  you  go  out,  don't 
ftop  to  speak  to  hhn.  He'll  want  to  kiss  you — I  know  that.  You 
mustn't  let  him ;  but  keep  quick  on  to  the  door.  The  wicket  is 
on  the  latch.  When  you  get  outside  you  can  run  as  fast  as  you 
like.  Make  for  the  trees  at  tne  top  of  the  hill.  There  you  will 
find  father  along  with  your  own  man.  Master  Garth.  It's  dark  as 
pitch  outside.  I'll  keep  the  lamp  here  till  you  get  through  the 
passage.  I  defy  him  to  tell  it  isn't  me,  if  you  don't  let  him  kiss 
jou.  Don't  do  that ;  but  pass  him  ^s  rapidly  •■  you  cm-  Now 
fou'ff  read^?    G9!" 


884  A   PEI80N    VI8IT0B. 

This  long  chapter  of  directions  was  spoken  more  quickly  thui  11 

can  be  rea^    Before  the  final  word  was  uttered,  Bet  Dancey  had 
succeeded  in  disguising  the  prisoner. 

She  herself  retained  her  complete  dress — the  only  part  of  hel 
being  left  uncovered  being  her  head  and  shoulders. 

Holtspur  gazed  for  a  moment  upon  the  generous,  boldly  beautiful 
girl;  and  with  a  glance  that  told  of  tenderness.  She  might  have 
mistaken  it  for  a  look  of  love.  Alas ! — for  her  sake, — alas — ^it  waa 
only  the  gaze  of  gratitude. 

At  that  moment  the  sentry  struck  his  halbert  against  the  stoop — 
as  if  summoning  them  to  a  separation. 

"Coming,  Master  Withers!  I'm  coming,"  cried  the  girl  in  «• 
undertone,  at  the  same  time  placing  her  lips  close  to  the  key-hole ; 
"  open,  and  let  me  out !  " 

The  bolt  was  turned  briskly  at  the  words.  Withers  was  longing 
for  that  promised  kiss.  The  door  was  re-opened;  and  the  cloaked 
figure  glided  forth  into  the  darkness. 

Withers  closed  the  door  behind  it — without  going  inside  for  his 
lantern.  He  did  not  desire  light  just  then ;  nor  the  delay  of  getting 
one.  He  could  return  for  the  lamp  at  any  time — after  that  pleasant 
occupation  in  which  he  anticipated  engaging  himself. 

He  only  waited  to  secure  the  bolt  against  any  chance  of  the 
prisoner's  attempting  to  come  forth. 

This  occupied  him  scarce  ten  seconds  of  time ;  but  short  as  was 
the  delay,  it  lost  him  his  expected  pleasure. 

As  he  turned  round  after  locking  the  door,  he  heard  the  click 
of  the  wicket  latch  and  the  moment  after  saw  the  cloaked  form  of 
his  supposed  sweetheart  outlined  in  the  opening.  In  another 
instant  she  had  passed  through,  slamming  the  wicket  behind  her ! 

Thinking  there  might  still  be  a  chance  of  securing  the  kiss, 
Withers  ran  to  the  front  entrance ;  and,  re-opening  the  wicket, 
stepped  briskly  outside. 

"  Confound  the  vixen !  **  he  muttered,  as  he  stood  peering  into 
the  darkness ;  "  I  b'lieve  she  be  clear  gone  away !  Mistress  Betsey ' 
Mistress  Betsey !  where  are  ye,  gurl  ?  Wont  ye  come  back  and 
keep  yer  promise  ? " 

As  he  made  this  appeal,  he  fancied  he  saw  her  figure  some  scori 
of  yards  out  in  front  of  the  gateway;  where  the  next  moment  i| 
mysteriously  disappeared,  as  if  smking  into  the  earth ! 


AS  UNEXPECTED   ENCOTJNTEB.  S88 

Neither  of  Ms  interrogatories  met  with  a  response.  From  tb« 
low  tone  in  which  he  spoke,  it  was  scarce  likely  he  had  been  heard 
He  dared  not  call  aloud — lest  his  voice  might  smnmon  the  guar^ 
rom  the  inner  court. 

" Confound  the  vixen !"  he  once  more  muttered;  "she  be  gone 
for  certain,  and's  tricked  me  out  o'  that  kiss. 

"It  an't  so  much  matter,  arter  all,"  continued  he ;  making  a  feint 
at  self-consolation.  "I  can  make  up  for  it  to-morrow,  by  taking  afl 
mary  as  I  want.  She's  afeerd  to  keep  the  lady  waitin' — ^whoever 
»}u  be — an*  not  gettin'  the  shiners  that's  been  promised  her.  She's 
right,  maybe.    She  knows  she'll  see  me  agin ;  so  let  her  go." 

And  with  this  consolatory  reflection,  he  turned  back  into  th« 
arched  entrance,  with  the  intention  of  recovering  the  lamp  left  in 
the  anartment  of  the  prisoner. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


Air  mnBXPBOTED  uroonNTiB. 


While  proceeding  along  the  passage,  it  occurred  to  Withers  that  he 
had  left  the  wicket  on  the  latch.  With  this  unlocked,  and  the  door 
of  the  store-room  open  at  the  same  time,  there  might  be  danger  of 
the  prisoner  making  his  escape. 

He  knew  that  the  latter  was  fast  bound,  both  hand  and  foot ;  but, 
in  his  soldiering  experience,  he  had  known  more  than  one  captive  get 
free  from  such  fastenings. 

To  make  safe,  therefore,  he  turned  back  towards  the  outer  gate, 
with  the  intention  of  securing  it. 

As  he  stood  holding  the  wicket  mhis  hand,  a  thought  influenced  ^^i 
lo  look  once  more  into  the  darkness. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  Betsey  might  come  back  ? 


*^'»  AH  UKEXPECTED   ENOOXJNTBB. 

Her  ranning  away  might  hare  been  only  a  frolic  on  her  part ; 
merelj  to  tease  him  ? 

He  would  take  another  look  out,  at  anj  rate. 
There  could  be  no  harm  in  that. 

With  this  resolve  he  remained,  holding  the  door  half  open ;  and 
peering  out  into  the  darkness. 

He  had  been  thus  occupied  scarce  ten  seconds  of  time,  when  an 
object  appeared  before  his  eyes  that  ehciied  from  him  a  series  ol 
joyful  ejaculations. 

It  was  the  figure  of  a  woman  wrapped  in  hood  and  cloak,  ooming 
round  an  angle  of  the  wall,  and  evidently  advancing  towards  the  spci 
were  he  stood. 

Who  could  it  be  but  Betsey  ? 

"Good!  "  cried  Withers.  "She  has  not  gone  arter  all.  That 
be  she  coming  back  round  the  corner  o'  the  house.  'Tan't  the  way 
I  thought  she  went  off;  but  I  must  ha'  been  mistaken.  Tes,  she  it 
be;  cloak,  hood,  an'  all!  I  might  ha*  knowed  she  wouldn't  go 
*ithout  gettin'  the  kiss.  I'm  glad  on*t  hows'soever.  A  bird  i*  tha 
hand's  worth  two  i'  the  bush." 

As  the  soldier  thus  congratulated  himself  on  the  re-appearance 
of  his  sweetheart,  and  was  chuckling  over  the  near  prospect  of  that 
promised  "  smack,"  the  cloaked  figure  arrived  in  front  of  the  gateway, 
and  stopped  within  a  few  paces  of  him. 

"  I  thought  ye  were  gone,  an'  hed  gi'en  me  the  slip.  Mistress  Bet- 
sey,'* said  he,  stepping  a  pace  or  two  outward  to  get  nearer  to  her. 
"  It's  very  kind  o'  ye  to  come  back.  Why,  ye  look  as  if  ye  were 
frightened?  Don't  be  scared  to  come  near  me.  Come  up,  now,  an' 
gie  me  the  kiss  ye  promised.    Come,  that  be  a  good  lass ! " 

He  was  about  opening  his  arms  to  offer  what  he  supposed  would 
be  a  welcome  embrace,  when  at  that  moment  the  lightning  gave  forth 
a  vivid  flash,  disclosing  in  the  figure  before  him  not  the  crimsoB- 
cloaked  peasant  girl,  from  whom  he  had  so  lately  parted,  but  a  lady 
richly  enrobed  in  silk,  satin,  and  velvet ! 

On  the  slender  white  fingers,  that  protruding  from  her  cloak  held 
its  hood  closed  over  her  chin,  he  had  seen,  under  the  electric  light, 
the  sheen  of  sparkling  jewels. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  style  of  the  personage  that  had  thvi 
ivesented  herself . 

Without  doubt  some  grand  dame — a  "  lady  of  the  land." 

On  perceiving  his  mistake,  the  surprise  i  sentry  gave  way  to  a  aeriec 
if  vtQiy  natural  reflections. 


AN  UITKXPEOTBD   ENOeUNTEB.  Vf) 

"It  be  the  one  as  sent  Betsey.  Sure  it  be !  She's  growed  impa- 
tient, an'  oome  herself.  I  s'pose  she'll  want  to  go  in  an'  see  h'm, 
too  ?  Well,  for  a  kiss,  I  don't  mind  lettin'  her ;  though  I'd  rajther 
a  hed  that  buss  from  Betsey." 

**  Good  night,  sir ! "  said  the  lady,  speaking  in  a  tone  that  courted 
conciliation,  though  indicatiye  of  some  surprise  at  the  style  oi  tht 
sentry's  first  salutation. 

"  The  same  to  yerself,  mistress  ! "  rejoined  the  soldier,  putting  CB 
his  most  courteous  air ;  "  may  I  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  yer  irrend  ?  It 
be  a  dark  night  for  a  fine  lady  to  be  abroad,  an'  late,  too  !  " 

"  If  I  mistake  not,"  said  she,  without  heeding  the  interrogatory 
"you are  Withers?" 

On  putting  this  question,  she  approached  a  little  nearer  to  the 
sentry — ^as  she  did  so,  drawing  her  jeweled  hand  within  the  cloak, 
and  letting  the  hood  fall  back  from  her  head. 

Her  beautiful  face  would  have  been  yisible,  but  for  the  absence  iA 
fight ;  and  trusting  to  this,  she  had  no  fear  of  being  recognized. 

"  Withers,  madam !  William  Withers;  that  be  my  name,  at  your 
sendee. " 

"  Thanks,  Master  Withers,  for  saying  so :  since  in  truth  I  want 
you  to  do  me  a  service." 

"Name  it,  fair  lady ! "  gallantly  challenged  the  young  cuirassier. 

•*  You  are  on  guard  over  a  prisoner.  I  need  not  say  who  that 
prisoner  is — since  I  believe  there  is  but  one.  I  want  to  see  him. 
'Tis  on  very  important  business." 

"  Oh !  I  understand ; "  said  Withers,  looking  superlatively  wise. 

"  I  want  only  a  word  with  him.  You  can  give  me  the  opportu- 
nity?" 

"  Certain  I  can ; "  replied  the  sentry,  '*  if  ye  think  it  be  necessaiy 
for  ye  to  see  him  yerself  J* 

"  Oh !  sir — ^it  is  necessary ! " 

**  Well,  I  didn't  know  that.  I  thought  the  message  ys  asctt  by  tfaa 
gurl  would  be  sufficient.,  She* 8  been,  an'  seen  'im  an'  gone  agin.  Yt 
han't  met  her,  then,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Mother!    Who?" 

"  Why,  the  young  gurl  ye  sent  to  speak  'ith  Im  inside." 

"I — ^I — sent  no  one." 

These  monosyllabic  words  were  pronounced  with  a  choking  ntttf 
nee ;  that  betrayed  something  more  than  surprise. 

"O-ah!"  muttered  the  sentry;  "there's  anotner,  then,  as  hai 
ptirate  bizneas  wi'  my  priso^ner.    4Ji  the  fine  ladies  i'  the  lan4 


tM  AJSf  UNEXPECTED   ENOOUNTKB. 

appear  to  be  runnln  arter  'im.    Well;  I  won't  make  fish  o'  one  au^ 

flesh  a'  t'other.  This  un  shall  have  her  chance  as  well  as  the  one 
that  sent  Betsey ;  an'  smce  she's  come  herself,  i'stead  a'  doin'  th« 
thing  b'  deputy,  she  desarves  to  heve  at  least  as  good  a  opportunity 
as  the  t'other.  Fair  play  in  loye  as  well  as  in  war — that  be  Will 
Withers'  way  o^  thinkin*. 

"  I  say,  mistress,"  continued  he,  once  more  addressing  himself  to 
the  lady.  "  I  heye  no  objection  to  yer  goin'  inside  a  minute — ^if  y« 
promise  me  not  to  make  it  long." 

"  Oh !  I  promise  it,  good  Withers !  You  shall  not  go  unrewarded. 
Take  this  in  return  for  your  generous  kindness." 

At  these  words  the  jeweled  hand  re-appeared  outside  the  folding! 
of  the  velvet — this  time  with  the  palm  held  upwards. 

Another  gleam  just  then  illuminated  the  atmosphere,  enabling  th« 
■entry  to  perceive  the  bounteous  bribe  that  was  offered  to  him. 

The  outspread  palm  was  covered  with  coins — as  many  as  could  lie 
upon  it.  Surely  it  was  not  the  electric  light  that  had  given  to  them 
their  yellow  tint  ?  No.  Withers  could  not  be  mistaken.  The  coins 
were  gold ! 

Without  saying  a  word,  he  stretched  out  his  own  large  paw  till  it 
touched  the  deUcate  fingers  of  the  lady ;  and  then,  permitting  the 
pieces  of  gold  to  sUp  into  his  palm,  he  quickly  transferred  them  to 
his  pocket. 

"Yer  hand,  mistress,  for  another  purpose;"  said  he  holding  out 
his  own  to  take  it ;  and  as  the  trembling  fingers  were  deposited  with- 
in his,  he  stepped  sideways  inside  the  wicket,  leading  the  lady  after 
him. 

In  this  fashion,  they  traversed  the  dark  archway — ^until  they  had 
teached  the  entrance  to  the  store-room. 

There  stopping,  the  sentry  once  more  turned  the  key  in  the  lock; 
•nd,  as  before,  pushed  the  door  partially  open. 

"  Ho!  master !  "  said  he,  again  directing  his  voice  Into  the  room* 
but  without  going  in  himself;  "here's  another  feminine  come  to 
speak  'ith  ye  as  were  before.  Now,  mistress ;  go  in !  Ye'U  find  the 
gentleman  inside." 

So  saying,  he  handed  the  lady  over  the  threshold;  closed  and  locked 
the  door  behind  her;  and  walked  back  towards  the  wicket — partly 
to  see  whether  Bet  Dancey  might  not  still  be  lingering  outside;  bu< 
also  with  the  idea  of  submitting  his  treas'are  to  the  test  of  anothei 
flash  of  the  lighti^ng :  Ik  or4«r  %9  MW^  himielf  tbat  ^  qqmmi  wtn 


A^  UNEXPECTED   ENOOtJNTES.  29$ 

It  is  scarce  necessary  to  say,  that  the  second  Tisitor  to  the  cell  o^ 
Ihe  imprisoned  patriot  was  Marion  Wade.  That  will  have  been 
guessed  already. 

Had  the  lamp  remained  where  the  sentry  had  first  set  it,  the 
daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke  could  not  have  been  two  seconds  within 
(he  store-room,  without  discovering  who  was  its  occupant.  As  it 
was,  a  short  interval  elapsed  before  she  became  aware  of  the  strange 
transformation  that  had  taken  place  in  the  personnel  of  the  pri- 
son. 

On  hearing  the  key  grating  in  the  lock,  the  substitute  of  Henry 
Uoltspur — believing  it  to  be  a  visit  of  inspection  on  the  part  of  th* 
guard  corporal,  or  some  similar  intrusion,  had -suddenly  snatched  the 
lamp  from  off  the  stool,  and  placed  it  in  a  less  conspicuous  position, 
behind  some  lumber  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

The  result  was  to  make  that  portion  occupied  by  herself,  almost 
as  obscure  as  if  no  light  was  in  the  place ;  and  the  girl,  who  had 
glided  back  to  the  bench,  and  taken  her  seat  upon  it,  might  without 
close  scrutiny  have  been  taken  for  a  man — for  Henry  Holtspur. 

And  for  him  was  she  for  a  time  mistaken.  It  was  under  this  be- 
lief, that  Marion  made  that  timid  and  trembling  approach :  and  this 
It  was  that  caused  her  voice  to  quiver,  as  she  faltered  forth  his 
name. 

The  voice  that  spoke  in  response,  at  once  dispelled  the  illusion. 
It  was  not  that  of  Henry  Holtspur,  which  would  have  been  known 
to  Marion  "Wade,  despite  the  obscurity  that  surrounded  her.  It  was 
not  the  voice  of  any  man.    It  was  a  woman's. 

Before  the  lady  could  recover  from  her  surprise,  the  form  of  a  wo- 
man, tall  as  her  own,  was  seen  rising  erect  from  the  bench ;  then 
stepping  forth  from  the  shadowed  side  of  the  room  until  the  face  was 
conspicuously  displayed  under  the  light  of  the  lamp. 

Marion  Wade  recognized  that  countenance,  as  one  that  had  often, 
too  often,  disturbed  her  dreams.  It  was  Bet  Dancey  who  was  thui 
imexpectedly  confronting  her. 

The  short,  sharp  scream  that  escaped  from  the  lips  of  the  lady 
expressed  an  emotion  stronger  than  surprise. 

It  comprehended  that  and  far  more.  She  who  had  uttered  it  com 
prehended  all ! 

This  was  the  girl  who  had  been  sent  to  speak  with  the  prisoner 

Who  sent  her? 

STo  00$, 


290  AN  TOJEXPECTED   ENCOUNTER. 

She  had  come  on  her  own  errand. 
She  had  come,  and  he  was  gone  ? 

She  had  rescued  him,  by  remaining  hi  his  phMW ! 

These  thoughts  followed  one  another  so  rapidlj,  as  to  bt  ilmosi 
simultaneous. 

Thej  had  all  passed  through  the  mind  of  Marion  "Wade,  before  • 
word  was  exchanged  betwen  herself  and  the  indiyidual  who  stood  be- 
fore her. 

The  latter,  with  equally  quick  comprehension,  interpreted  the  pres- 
ence of  the  ladj  in  that  apartment. 

She  had  come  in  the  same  cause  as  herself  though  too  late  for  a 
like  success 

Not  a  doubt  had  Bet  Dancej  that  she  in  the  dark  yelvet  cloak  had 
entered  that  room  with  the  design  of  releasing  the  prisoner — in  the 
same  manner  as  she  had  herself  done  scarce  five  minutes  before. 

She  well  knew  who  was  her  competitor  in  this  self-sacrificing 
game 

If  the  black  hair  and  dark  flashing  orbs  of  Dick  Dancey's  daughter 
had  disturbed  the  dreams  of  Marion  Wade,  so  too  had  the  golden 
tresses  and  blue  beaming  eyes  of  Sir  Marmaduke's,  more  than  once, 
rendered  uneasy  the  slumbers  of  the  forest  maiden. 

The  understanding  was  mutual. 

In  her  own  thoughts  each  found  a  key  to  the  actions  of  the 
other. 

The  rivals  stood  face  to  face — Marion  shrinking,  chagrined — Betsey 
unasbashed,  triumphant. 

There  was  an  interval  of  embarrassing  silence. 

It  was  brought  to  an  end  by  the  girl ;  otherwise  it  might  have  re- 
mained unbroken,  as  the  lady  was  turning  to  leave  the  room  in 
silence. 

"  You've  named  the  name  of  Henry  Holtspur  ?  He*8  not  here. 
Mistress  Marion  Wade.** 

"  I  can  perceive  that  without  your  assistance,**  answered  the  proud 
daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke — who,  perhaps,  would  not  have  deigned 
a  reply,  had  she  not  been  piqued  by  the  tone  of  the  interrogator. 

**  You  expected  to  find  him,  didn't  you  ?  ** 

Marion  hesitated  to  make  reply. 

**  Of  course  you  did ;  else  why  should  you  have  come  here }  Yon 
Intended  to  see  him  free;  but  you're  too  late,  Mistress  Wade.  Mas- 
ter Holtspur  has  friends  who  think  as  much  of  him  as  you — ^perhapl 

}g^9t^   Om  id  iim^  fQ^  m^  W^  b«$»  bsfort  ywi.** 


•*  You  mean  yourself?" 

Marion  was  constrained  to  pat  this  question)  by  a  thought  that  had 
■uddenly   occurred  to  her. 

She  remembered  the  words  of  the  sentry,  who  had  spoken  of  **t 
prl  having  been  sent  by  a  lady." 

After  all,  was  Bet  Dancey  only  a  messenger? 

And  was  there  a  real  rival,  one  of  her  own  rank,  in  the  back* 
ground  ? 

Such  a  belief  would  to  some  extent  have  been  consolatory  to  the 
heart  of  the  questioner. 

But  even  this  slight  hope  was  crushed,  by  the  reply  to  her  inter- 
rogatory. 

"  A  strange  question  that,  Mistress  Marion  Wade  ?  You  see  mi 
here  ?  You  see  I  have  risked  my  life  to  save  his  ?  Do  you  think  I 
would  do  that  for  another  f  No — not  for  the  queen  herself — who  I 
re  heard  likes   him  as  much,  as  either  you  or  me  ?  " 

"There's  not  much  risk,**  replied  Marion,  becoming  irritated  in 
spite  of  herself,  at  the  insolent  tone  of  her  rustic  rival.  "  To  you,  I 
■hould  think,  not  much  risk  of  anything." 

"  Indeed  ?  And  to  you — had  you  been  iu  time  to  set  him  free  I 
How  then?" 

Marion  had  turned  her  back  upon  her  taunting  interrogator ;  and 
was  moving  towards  the  door,  to  avoid  the  unpleasantness  of  any 
further  parley  with  one  whose  words,  as  well  as  actions,  had  already 
given  her  so  much  pain. 

"  Stay ! "  cried  her  tormentor,  as  if  delighted  to  continue  the  per. 
•ecution.  "  You  appear  disappointed,  at  not  having  an  opportunity 
to  show  your  friendship  for  Master  Holtspur.  You  may  do  some- 
thing yet,  if  you  have  a  mind.  I  dare  ye  to  take  my  place  and  let 
me  go  out.  If  you  do,  1*11  let  him  know  of  it  the  first  time  I  see  him. 
I  know  that  would  be  doing  him  a  service.    Now  ?  ** 

"  Away,  rude  girl !  I  decline  your  absurd  proposition.  I  shall 
hold  no  further  speech  with  you." 

As  the  lady  said  this,  she  stretched  forth  her  hand,  and  rapped 
against  the  door — making  as  much  noise  as  her  trembling  flngeri 
were  capable  of ;  and  without  any  regard  to  the  precautions  with 
which  she  had  been  charged  by  the  sentry. 

Withers  was  waiting  outside. 

The  key  turned  quickly  in  the  lock,  and  the  door  was  once  mon 
held  open. 


The  lady  glided  silently  out ;  and  on  through  the  wicket,  iHtbonl 
staying  to  speak  a  word  of  thanks. 

But  she  had  thanked  the  sentry  in  adyance ;  and  was  thinking  no 
more  of  his  services. 

As  she  looked  forth  from  the  wicket,  the  storm,  for  some  hours 
threatening,  had  burst ;  and  the  rain  was  descending  like  a  deluge 
upon  the  earth. 

She  stayed  not  under  the  shelter  of  the  arched  entrance — she  did 
not  think  of  staying ;  but  stepped  fearlessly  over  the  threshold,  and 
out  into  the  open  way — ^reckless  of  the  rain,  and  daring  the  dark- 
ness. 

There  was  a  storm  in  her  own  bosom ;  in  violence  equaling  that 
of  the  elements — in  blackness  eclipsing  them. 

There  was  not  a  gleam  of  light  in  the  cloudy  canopy  of  the 
heavens. 

So,  on  the  horoscope  of  her  own  future,  there  was  not  a  ray 
of  hope. 

To  her,  Henry  Holtspur  was  no  more — ^at  least,  no  more  to  make 
her  happy. 

She  scarce  felt  gladness  at  his  escape;  though  it  would  have 
been  supreme  joy,  had  she  herself  been  the  instrument  that  had 
secured  it. 

After  aU  her  fond  imaginings — after  a  sacrifice  that  brought  shame, 
and  a  confession  that  made  known  to  him  the  complete  surrender  oi 
her  heart — to  be  thus  crossed  in  the  full  career  of  her  passion — 
abandoned — slighted,  she  might  almost  say — and  for  a  rival  who  was 
only  rustic ! 

Oh !  it  was  the  very  aane  of  bitterness — ^the  fellest  shape  that  jeal- 
ousy could  have  assumed ! 

It  was  not  merely  the  last  incident  that  was  leading  her  into  the 
depth  of  despair. 

It  only  owerflowed  the  cup  already  at  its  full. 

Too  many  signs  had  appeared  before  her  eyes — the  report  of  too 
many  circumstances  had  reached  her  ears — to  leave  her  in  doubt 
about  the  relationship  that  existed  between  Henry  Holtspur  and  his 
late  deliverer. 

How  cordial  must  it  be,  on  the  part  of  the  latter,  to  stimulate  her 
to  such  an  act  as  that  just  performed ;  and  how  confident  must  she 
have  been  of  being  rewarded  for  her  self-sacrifice ! 

A  woman  would  not  do  such  a  thing  for  one  likely  to  treat  her 
with  indifforenos  f 


S9S 

So  reasoned  Manon  Wade;  though  she  reasoned  wrongly. 

It  might  be  a  liaism,  and  not  an  honest  love  ?    Considering  th« 
relative  position  of  the  parties,  this  was  probable  enough ;  but  to  the 
mind  of  Marion  it  mended  not  the  matter  to  think  so.    On  the  con 
trary,  it  only  made  the  ruin  appear  more  complete. 

Both  men  and  women  are  more  painfully  affected  by  a  jealousy  oj 
the  former,  than  of  the  latter  ! 

Alas!  that  the  statement  should  be  true;  but  it  is  so.  He  who 
denies  it  knows  not  human  nature — knows  not  human  love  ! 

It  would  not  be  true  to  say,  that  Marion  Wade  reflected  after  this 
philosophic  fashion ;  and  yet  it  would  be  equally  imtrue,  to  allege 
that  her  mind  was  altogether  free  from  such  a  reflection.  Though 
beautiful  as  an  angel,  she  was  but  a  woman — imbued  with  all  a 
woman's  sensibilities — her  sensuaUties  too,  though  divinely  adorn- 
ed! 

With  the  reckless  air  of  one  crossed  in  love,  she  strode  forth  into 
the  darkness,  taking  no  heed  of  the  direction. 

She  walked  with  hasty  steps ;  though  not  to  avoid  the  pelting  of 
the  rain,  or  shun  exposure  to  the  storm. 

On  the  contrary,  she  seemed  to  court  these  assaults :  for,  having 
arrived  at  the  end  of  the  verandah — whither  she  had  strayed  by 
chance — instead  of  seeking  shelter  under  its  roof,  she  stayed  outside 
upon  the  open  sward. 

Although  within  a  very  short  distance  of  the  door,  by  which  she 
might  have  found  easy  ingress  to  the  mansion,  she  refrained  from  en- 
tering. Flinging  the  hood  back  upon  her  shoulders,  she  turned  her 
face  upward  to  the  sky,  and  seemed  as  if  seeking  solace  from  the 
cold  deluge  that  poured  down  from  the  clouds — ^the  big  drops  danc- 
ing upon  her  golden  tresses,  and  leaving  them  as  if  with  reluc- 
tance to  saturate  the  silken  foldings  that  draped  her  majestic  form. 

"  Oh  !  that  I  could  weep  like  you,  ye  skies ! "  she  exclaimed,  "  and 
liSte  you,  cast  the  cloud  that  is  over  me  !  Alas  !  *tis  too  dense  to 
be  dissolved  in  tears.  To-morrow  ye  will  be  bright  again,  and  gay 
«s  ever !  To-morrow !  Ah !  'twill  be  the  same  to  me,  to  morrow 
•nd  forever !  ** 

"Marion!" 

The  voice  pronouncing  her  name  came  not  from  the  sky  she  was 
apostrophizing ;  though  it  was  one  that  sounded  in  her  ears  sweet  aa 
iny  music  from  heaven  ! 

Were  her  senses  deceiving  her  ?  Was  it  the  distant  thunder  thai 
muttered  "  Marion  ? " 


No  thunder  could  haye  spoken  sc   pleasantly ;  J;  was  the  Toice  of 
•  lover  uttering  the  accents  of  love ! 

Once  more  heard  she  the  voice — once  more  pronouncing  "Ma- 
rion I  " 

She  had  listened  for  its  repetition  with  an  earnestness  that  brooked 
not  ambiguity. 

She  no  longer  suspected  the  thunder  of  having  proclaimed  hel 
name.    The  voice  was  recognized. 

It  was  that  of  one  not  worshiped  in  Heaven,  but  upon  Earth. 

The  Ughtning  aided  in  his  identification.    A  favoring  flash  dis 
covered  a  well-known  form  and  face. 

Henry  Holtspur  was  standing  by  her  sidt ! 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


SffOBM  AVD  OALH 


Holtspur's  presence  at  this  point  requires  explanation 

Why  did  he  linger  upon  a  spot  to  him  fraught  with  extreme  peril 
—-when  almost  certain  death  would  be  the  consequence  of  his  re- 
capture. 

*Tis  said  that  the  fox  and  hare  delight  to  roam  around  the  pre- 
cincts of  the  kennel — as  if  fascinated  with  the  danger. 

The  conduct  of  Scarthe's  prisoner,  in  thus  keeping  the  proximity 
of  his  prison,  though  seeming  to  resemble  the  folly  of  the  fox  and 
the  frenzy  of  the  hare,  admits  of  an  easy  explanation. 

On  getting  outside  the  wicket  gate — which  he  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution to  shut  behind  him — Holtspur  had  gone  off  in  a  line  at  right 
%ngles  to  the  western  fa'^ade  of  the  mansion.  He  had  soro«  remem- 
brance of  the  moated  ditch  that  surrounded  the  shrubbery.  He  had 
observed  that  it  was  waterless,  and  could  be  easily  reached  from  the 
^faoM.     Once  in  its  bottom,  he  would  be  safe  from  observation ;  and 


M 

standing  erect,  he  could  see  over  the  parapet  and  ascertam  ^^ nether 
he  was  pursued.  If  not,  he  would  go  at  his  leisure  along  its  dry 
hollow,  and  get  round  to  the  rear  of  the  dwelling  without  setting 
foot  upon  the  open  pasture  ground.  If  pursued  at  once,  the  ditch 
would  still  be  his  best  place  of  concealment. 

On  reaching  its  edge  he  had  leaped  into  it. 

It  was  no  fancy  of  the  sentinel  that  a  cloaked  figure  had  disap* 
peared  in  that  direction  in  a  somewhat  mysterious  manner. 

After  making  his  descent  into  the  ditch,  Holtspur  came  to  a  halt 
to  disembarrass  himself  of  the  unbecoming  garments  that  impeded 
the  action  of  his  arms  and  hmbs.  Both  the  skirt  and  cloak  were 
east  off. 

His  next  action  was  to  elevate  his  eyes  above  the  parapet,  and  if 
possible,  ascertain  whether  his  escape  had  become  known  to  the 
guards.  This  action  took  place  just  as  the  sentry  had  stepped  out- 
side the  wicket  and  was  calling  upon  his  Betsy  to  come  back.  It 
was  so  dark,  Holtspur  could  not  see  the  man ;  but  he  had  noted  the 
lifting  of  the  latch,  and  could  hear  his  mutterings. 

Next  moment  the  lightning  flashed,  revealing  to  the  astonished 
eyes  of  the  sentry  a  lady  robed  in  rich  velvet. 

Holtspur  saw  the  lady  by  the  same  light,  deriving  from  the  sight  a 
▼ery  different  impression. 

His  first  feeling  was  one  of  surprise,  quickly  succeeded  by  a  Tague 
sense  of  pain. 

The  first  arose  from  seeing  Marion  Wade  abroad  at  that  hour  of 
the  night ;  for  despite  the  cloak  and  close-dravni  hood,  he  had  recog- 
nized the  daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke.  Her  bounding  step  and  tall 
symmetrical  form  were  not  to  be  mistaken  by  any  one  who  had  ever 
observed  them ;  and  upon  the  mind  of  Henry  Holtspur  they  were 
indelibly  impressed. 

His  second  emotion  was  the  result  of  a  series  of  interrogative  con- 
jectures For  what  purpose  was  she  abroad  f  Was  it  to  meet  some 
one  ?     An  appointment  ?    Scarthe  ? 

For  some  seconds  the  lover's  heart  was  on  fire,  or  felt  as  if  it 
was. 

Fortunately,  the  dread  sensation  was  short-lived. 

It  was  replaced  by  a  feeling  of  supreme  pleasure.  The  soul  of 
Henry  Holtspur  trembled  with  triumphant  joy,  as  he  saw  the  lady 
moving  forward  to  the  court-yard  gate,  and  seeking  admission  from 
the  «(><itry     He  could  hear  part  of  the  conversation  passing  betwect 


06  STORM  AND  OALJt. 

them.  The  lightning's  flash  shc^^r-ed  him  her  hand  ^tended,  witi 
the  yellow  gold  glittering  between  her  fingers.  There  was  no  diffl' 
culty  in  divining  her  intention.  She  was  bribing  the  guard.  Foi 
what  ?    For  the  privilege  of  passing  inside  ? 

**  I've  been  wronging  her ! "  exclaimed  Holtspur,  conjecturally. 
shaping  her  purpose  to  his  wishes.  "  If  so,  I  shall  make  full  atone- 
ment. The  glove  worn  by  Scarthe  may  have  been  stolen,  must  have 
been.  If  'tis  for  me  her  visit  is  intended,  then  I  shall  know  to  a 
certainty.  Such  a  sacrifice  as  this  could  not  come  from  a  coquette  ? 
Ah !  she  is  risking  everything.  I  shall  risk  my  hberty — my  life — to 
make  sure  that  it  is  for  me.     *Tis  bliss  to  fancy  that  it  is  so." 

As  he  said  this,  he  stepped  eagerly  up  to  the  moated  wall,  with 
the  intention  of  scaling  it  and  returning  to  the  gateway. 

He  did  not  succeed  in  the  attempt.  The  parapet  was  high  above 
his  head.  He  had  been  able  to  see  over  it  only  by  standing  back 
upon  the  sloping  acclivity  of  the  counterscarp.  He  could  not  reach  it 
with  his  hands,  though  springing  several  feet  upward  from  the  bottom 
of  the  fosse. 

After  several  times  repeating  the  attempt,  he  desisted. 

**  The  footbridge !  "  muttered  he,  remembering  the  latter.  "  I  can 
go  round  by  it." 

He  turned  along  the  outside  edge  of  the  moat,  in  his  anxious  haste 
no  longer  taking  precaution  to  keep  concealed.  The  darkness  favored 
him.  The  night  was  now  further  obscured  by  the  thick  rain,  that 
had  suddenly  commenced  descending. 

This,  however,  hindered  him  from  making  rapid  progress ;  for  the 
sloping  sward  of  the  counterscarp  had  at  once  become  slippery,  and 
h  was  with  difficulty  he  could  keep  his  footing  upon  it. 

On  reaching  the  bridge,  another  obstacle  presented  itself.  The 
gate  that  crossed  it  at  midway  was  shut  and  locked,  as  was  cus- 
tomary at  night,  and  it  was  somewhat  a  perilous  feat  to  climb  over  it. 

It  was  performed,  however ;  and  Holtspur  stood  once  more  within 
the  enclosed  grounds  of  the  shrubbery. 

The  delay  of  gaining  access  to  thena  had  been  fatal  to  his  original 
design.  As  he  faced  towards  the  gate  entrance,  he  heard  the  wicke* 
once  more  turning  upon  its  hinges,  and  saw  a  woman's  figure  oatr 
lined  in  the  opening. 

In  another  instant  it  had  moved  around  the  angle  of  the  buildings 
and  was  advancing  in  the  direction  of  the  verandah. 

Holtspur  pausod,  and  for  a  moment  hesitated  to  present  himself. 


8T0RM  AND  0ALM.  i9t 

Could  he  hare  been  mistaken  as  to  the  purpose  of  that  nocturnal 
fisit  to  the  com-t-yard  ?  What  would  he  not  have  given  for  the 
lecret  that  had  been  confided  to  that  trusty  sentinel  ? 

If  in  error,  how  awkward  would  be  an  interview !  Net  that  he 
feared  betrayal.  Such  a  thought  did  not  enter  his  mind.  But  the 
oddness  of  such  an  encounter,  its  gaucheriey  would  be  all  upon  his  side. 

His  indecision  was  but  for  a  moment.  It  might  be  the  last  time 
he  should  have  an  opportunity  of  speaking  with  ^Marion  Wade. 

This  thought,  along  with  a  fond  belief  that  he  had  rightly  con- 
strued the  errand  on  which  she  had  come  forth,  once  more  emboldened 
him ;  and,  gliding  on  through  the  shrubbery,  he  placed  himself  by 
her  side — at  the  same  time  pronouncing  her  name. 

It  was  his  voice,  heard  above  the  rushing  of  the  storm,  that  had 
fiillen  so  unexpectedly  on  her  ear. 

"  'Tis  you,  Henry ! "  she  said,  yielding  to  her  first  instinct  of 
pleasure  at  seeing  him  free  and  unfettered. 

Then,  as  if  remembering  how  he  had  come  by  that  freedom — with 
the  wild  words  of  his  deliverer  still  ringing  in  her  ears — her  demeanor 
suddenly  changed  to  that  haughty  reserve  which  the  proud  daughtel 
of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  had  a  right  to  assume. 

"  Sir  !  "  continued  she,  with  an  effort  at  indifference,  "  I  am  sur- 
prised to  see  you  here.  I  presumed  that  by  this  time  you  would 
have  been  far  from  this  place." 

"  I  should  have  been ;  but " 

"  You  need  not  hesitate  to  tell  the  reason.  I  know  it.  It  is  easy 
to  guess  that." 

"  Marion ! " 

"  No  doubt  your  deliverer  will  soon  find  the  opportunity  of  rejoin- 
ing you  ? " 

"  You  know  how  T  escaped,  then  ? "  cried  Holtspur,  who  in  the 
delight  of  discovering  that  Marion  had  been  to  his  prison,  paid  no 
heed  to  her  scornful  insinuation.  "  You  have  been  inside  ?  You 
saw " 

"  Your  substitute,  sir.  It  is  not  singular  you  should  be  anxious 
on  account  of  one  who  has  done  you  such  signal  service.  I  can  re- 
port that  she  is  in  the  best  of  spirits — proud  of  her  achievement — 
only  a  Uttle  anxious,  perhaps,  to  participate  in  your  flight.  Do  not 
be  imeasy  on  her  account.  She  will  not  keep  you  long  waiting 
One  gifted  with  so  much  ingenuity  wiU  find  but  little  obstacle  in  t 
wore  of  sentries  " 

13* 


"Mwrion!" 

*  A  pity  it  is  not  *  Betsej  *  to  whom  ycRi  tat  tddrefisiAg  yoars«lf' 
A  pity  she  should  keep  you  waiting— especially  in  such  weather. 
For  myself,  I  must  get  out  of  it.  Good  night,  sir ;  or  good  morF^ng 
— which  you  will  it." 

"  Marion — Marion  Wade  !  do  not  go !  Do  not  leave  me  thus  ! 
One  word — hear  me !  " 

Holtspur  could  well  afford  to  place  himself  in  the  attitude  of  a 
petitioner.  That  visit  to  his  prison,  with  its  conjectured  design,  had 
re-assured  him  of  Marion's  love,  lately  doubted. 

She  paused  at  the  appeal.    It  was  too  earnest  to  be  resisted. 

"  It  was  not  her,  for  whom  I  was  waiting,"  continued  Holtspur, 
now  more  clearly  comprehending  the  conduct  that  had  surprised  him. 
"  It  was  for  you,  Marion— for  you.** 

"  This  shallow  pretense  is  unworthy  of  you,  sir ;  unworthy  of  a 
gentleman.  How  could  you  have  expected  to  see  mel  Oh !  weak 
that  I  have  been  to  trust  my  reputation  to  ofae  who ** 

"  One  who  will  lay  down  his  Ufe  to  guard  it  against  being  sullied 
by  the  slightest  stain.  Believe  me,  Marion  Wade,  it  was  to  speak 
with  you  I  have  stayed.  I  saw  you  as  I  was  hastening  away. 
Little  had  I  been  hoping  for  such  a  heaven-sent  chance !  I  saw  you 
approach  the  gate  and  go  in.  Need  I  declare  to  you  the  hope  that 
thrilled  through  my  heart,  ^ben  I  fancied  your  mission  might  be  to 
myself?  I  cannot — word  ill  not  express  what  1  felt — what  I 
feel!" 

Yieldingly  did  the  proud  n  ^n  turn  towards  him — as  the  flower 
turns  to  its  natural  deity,  t\  «un,  from  whom  it  derives  all  its 
delight. 

Just  as  its  petals  are  unclose^  y  his  kissing  rays  after  the  long 
night  of  damp  and  darkness,  J^  7as  the  bosom  of  Marion  Wade 
revivified  with  fresh  life,  and  hope,  and  joy,  while  she  stood  listening 
to  those  earnest  asseverations. 

As  yet  she  had  not  put  her  threat  into  execution.  The  shelter 
was  near,  but  she  had  not  availed  herself  of  it ;  and  at  the  close  of 
her  lover's  speech  she  seemed  no  longer  to  care  for  it. 

Her  hood  was  still  hanging  over  her  shoulders — ^her  head  uncovered 
to  the  storm.  The  rain-drops  sparkled  upon  her  golden  hair,  losing 
themselves  amid  its  profuse  masses.  They  chased  one  another  over 
her  warm,  flushed  cheeks,  as  if  in  very  delight.  They  streamer? 
iown  the  furrows  of  her  rich  robe,  freely  entering  at  its  foldinga^ 
•ad  stiU  she  regarded  them  not. 


291 

If  ndserj,  but  the  moment  before,  had  rendered  her  insensible  to 
tile  storm,  happiness  was  now  producing  the  like  effect. 

Holtspur's  appeal  was  no  more  rejected — his  approach  no  longei 
repelled.  He  was  left  free  to  manifest  the  loyer's  care ;  and  gently 
engaging  the  hand  of  his  beloved,  he  conducted  her  within  tiie  ver- 
andah 

The  storm  raged  on,  but  neither  regarded  it.  Thej  had  escaped 
irom  a  storm — far  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  conflict  of  tht 
elements — that  of  the  two  most  powerful  passions  of  the  human 
leart — jealousy  and  love.  The  struggle  was  over.  The  former  had 
fl«d  from  th«  field — leaving  the  latter  triumphant  in  the  bosoms  of 
both. 


CHAPTfiB  XLYL 

AWAY— AVAT  ! 


Tbe  calm  after  the  temped— the  day  after  the  night — sunshine 
Bucceeding  shadow — any  of  llsese  physical  transformations  may 
symbolize  the  change  from  the  passion  of  jealousy  to  that  of  love. 
At  best  they  are  but  faint  emblems ;  and  we  must  seek  in  the  soul 
itself  for  truer  representatives  <rf  those  its  extremest  contrasting 
emotions  ]  or  find  it  in  our  promised  future  of  eternal  torture  and 
eternal  bliss 

It  is  in  the  crisis  of  transformation — or,  rather,  in  the  moment 
Bucceeding  it — ^that  the  true  agony  is  endured ;  whether  it  be  an 
agony  of  pain,  or  one  of  pleasure- 

The  latter  was  the  lot  of  Henry  Holtspur  and  Marion  Wade,  as 
they  rested  under  the  sheltering  toile  of  the  verandah.  To  both,  it 
was  a  moment  of  unalloyed  happiness ;  such  as  they  had  experienced 
only  on  one  other  occasion — when,  entwined  in  each  other's  arms 
under  the  verdant  canopy  of  the  chestnut-trees,  they  had,  with  lipi 
tlMt  lied  HQti  madB  reciprocal  smrender  of  their  h^ftrtt. 


300  AWAY-   AWAY  I 

One  listening  t»j  those  mutual  vows — poured  forth  with  the  tender 
»nd  emphatic  eloquence  which  love  alone  can  impart — could  scare* 
have  believed  that  mistrust  should  ever  again  spring  up  between 
them. 

It  had  done  00 — ^perhaps  not  to  be  regretted.  It  had  vanished  i 
and  the  reaction  had  introdueed  them  to  an  agony  of  pleasure — ^if 
possible  more  piquant  than  even  that  which  had  accompanied  the 
first  surrender  of  their  souls.  Both  now  experienced  the  pleasure  ol 
surrendering  them  again.  No  more  might  jealousy  intrude  itself 
upon  their  enjoyment ;  and  for  a  while  they  even  forgot  those  trifling 
signs  that  had  led  to  it :  she  the  faded  flowers — ^he  that  sinister 
gauntlet. 

It  was  only  natural,  however,  that  the  causes  of  their  late  mistrust 
should  become  the  subject  of  conversation;  which  they  did. 

Mutual  surprise  was  the  result  of  mutual  interrogation ;  though 
neither  could  give  to  the  other  the  explanation  asked  for. 

The  flowers  in  Holtspur's  hat,  and  the  glove  in  Scarthe's  helmet, 
were  enigma's  equally  inexplicable. 

As  to  the  latter,  Marion  only  knew  that  she  had  lost  it,  that  she 
had  looked  for  it,  she  did  not  say  why,  and  without  success. 

Holtspur  still  wore  his  beaver.  Indeed,  he  had  not  till  that  hour 
foimd  the  chance  of  taking  it  oflf.  Only  within  the  last  ten  minutes 
had  his  hands  been  free  to  remove  it. 

He  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  of  the  manner  in  which  it  was 
bedecked,  not  until  he  learned  it  from  the  lips  of  her  upon  whom  the 
faded  flowers  had  produced  such  a  painful  impression. 

Marion  could  not  misinterpret  his  surprise,  mingled  with  indigna 
tion,  as  he  Ufted  the  hat  from  his  head,  wrenched  the  flowers  from 
their  fastening,  and  flung  them  scornfully  upon  the  sward. 

Her  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure,  as  she  witnessed  the  act.  It  was 
the  kind  of  homage  a  woman's  heart  could  comprehend  and  appre- 
ciate ;  and  her's  trembled  with  a  triumphant  joy. 

Only  for  a  short  moment  could  this  sweet  contentment  continue 
Nature  is  niggardly  of  such  supreme  pleasure.  It  was  succeeded  by 
a  sombre  thought,  some  dark  presentiment  pointing  to  the  distant 
future.    It  found  expression  in  speech. 

"  0  Henry  !  "  she  said,  laying  hold  of  his  arm,  at  the  same  tima 
fixing  her  earnest  blue  eyes  upBii  his,  *  sometime — I  fear  to  think  it, 
much  more  to  spef  j[  it — sometime  might  you  not  do  the  si^f 
with ^ 


AWAY — AWAY  !  >01 

"With  what,  Marioa?*' 

"Sw^eet  love!  you  know  what  I  mean !  Or  shalll  tell  H  jou! 
*Tig  a  shame  for  you  not  to  understand  me,  you,  who  are  so  clever, 
as  I've  heari  say;  ah !  as  I,  myself,  have  reason  to  know." 

"  Dearest !  I  fear  I  am  not  very  clever  at  comprehencing  the  ways 
of  your  sex.    Perhaps  if  I  had '* 

Holtspur  interrupted  himself,  as  if  he  had  arrived  on  the  verge  of 
some  disclosure  he  did  not  desire  to  make. 

"  If  you  had  ? "  inquired  Marion,  in  a  tone  that  told  of  an  altered 
interest.     "  What  if  you  had,  Henry  ?  " 

*'  If  I  had,"  replied  her  lover,  escaping  from  his  embarrassment  by 
a  happy  subterfuge,  "  I  should  not  have  been  so  dilatory  in  declaring 
my  love  to  you." 

The  speech  was  pretty;  but,  alas!  ambiguous.  It  gave  Marion 
pleasure  to  think  he  had  long  loved  her,  and  yet  it  stirred  within 
her  a  painful  emotion,  by  recalling  the  bold  challenge  by  which  she 
had  lured  him  to  the  avowal  of  it. 

He,  too,  as  soon  as  he  had  spoken,  appeared  to  perceive  the  danger 
of  such  an  interpretation ;  and  in  order  to  avert  it,  hurriedly  had 
recourse  to  his  former  interrogatory. 

"  Do  the  same,  you  said,  as  I  have  done  with  the  flowers.  And 
with  what?" 

«*  The  token  I  gave  you,  Henry,  the  white  gatmtlet." 

"  When  I  fling  it  to  the  earth,  as  I  have  done  those  withered  blos- 
soms, it  will  be  to  defy  him  who  may  question  my  right  to  wear  it. 
When  that  time  comes,  Marion  Wade " 

"  Oh !  never  I  "  cried  she,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  her  admiration 
fervently  pressing  his  arm,  and  looking  fondly  into  his  face.  "  None 
but  you,  Hem  jr,  shall  ever  have  that  right.  To  no  other  could  I 
concede  it.    B3lieve  me  !  believe  me  ! " 

Why  was  it  that  Holtspur  received  this  earnest  declaration  with  a 
•igh  ?    Why  did  he  respond  to  it  with  a  look  of  sadness  ? 

Upon  his  arm  was  hanging  the  fairest  form  in  the  county  of  Buck- 
inghamshire, perhaps  in  all  England ;  upon  his  shoulder  rested  tha 
loveliest  cheek ;  against  his  bosom  throbbed  a  heart  responsive  to  his 
own,  a  heart  that  princes  would  have  been  proud  to  possess.  Why 
that  sigh,  on  listening  to  the  earnest  speeches  that  assured  him  of  its 
possession  ? 

But  for  the  darkness  that  obscured  the  expression  of  his  face,  but 
p;wr  ti|«  beatings  of  h«r  own  heart,  that  hin(^ere4  h^r  from  hearmg  tht 


•^  AWAT— AWAT  ? 

ligh  that  escaped  his,  Marion  Wade  might  hare  asked  this  quesUot 
with  fearful  interest  in  the  answer. 

She  saw  not  the  look,  she  heard  not  the  sigh;  and  yet  she  wal 
troubled  with  some  Tague  suspicion.  The  reply  had  something  in  it 
that  did  not  satisfy  her,  ftomething  reiiant. 

"  0  Henry ! "  she  said,  "  you  are  going  from  me  now.    I  know  we 
must  part.    When  shall  I  see  you  again  ?    It  may  be  long — long?  " 
"  No  longer  than  I  can  help,  love !  " 
"  You  will  gire  me  a  promise,  Henry  ?  ** 
"  Yes,  Marion ;  any  promise  you  may  dictate  to  me." 
"Thanks!  thanks!    I  know  you  will  keep  it.     Come  nearer, 
Henry !  look  into  my  eyes !    'Tis  a  poor  light ;  but  I  need  not  much 
to  see  that  yours  are  true.    I  know  they  are  beautiful,  Henry," 
Holtspur's  frame  quivered  under  the  searching  scrutiny. 
"  What  am  I  to  promise  ? "  he  asked  in  the  hope  of  hiding  his  em> 
barrassment. 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Henry.  'Tis  not  much  I  am  going  to  ask  of 
you.  Not  much  to  you ;  but  all  the  world  to  me.  Listen,  and  I 
will  tell  you.  Since  we  mef ,  I  mean  since  I  knew  that  you  loved  me, 
I  have  learned  one  thing.  It  is  that  I  coiUd  not  live  and  be  jealovs. 
The  torture  I  have  endured  for  the  last  twelve  hours  has  told  me 
that.  You  will  laugh  at  me,  Henry ;  but  I  cannot  help  it.  No.  Let 
me  be  happy,  or  let  me  die !  " 

"  Sweet  life !  why  should  you  think  of  such  a  thing  as  jealousy  ? 
You  need  not  fear  that,  if  it  should  ever  spring  up  between  us,  it  will 
9e  my  misfortune,  not  yours,  all  mine." 

"  You  jest,  Henry !  You  know  not  the  heart  you  have  conquered. 
Its  firstlbgs  were  yours.  Though  often  solicited,  pardon  me  for 
being  so  plain,  it  was  never  before  surrendered  to  living  man, 
0  Henry!  you  know  not  how  I  love  you !  Do  not  think  it  is  the 
fleeting  fancy  of  a  romantic  girl,  that  may  change  under  the  influence 
of  a  more  matured  age.  I  am  a  woman,  with  my  girlhood  gone  by 
Holtspur !  you  have  won  me ;  you  have  uxm  a  tooman's  love  I " 
Ecstasy  to  the  soul  of  him  thus  addressed. 

"  Tell  me,  sweet  Marion !  "  cried  he.  "Forgive  me  the  selfish 
question;  but  I  cannot  help  fisking  it-  Tell  me  why  am  I  thus  be- 
loved ?  I  do  not  deserve  it.  I  am  twice  your  age.  I  have  lost  those 
looks  that  once,  perhaps,  may  have  attracted  the  romantic  farcy. 
0  Marion  Wade !  I  am  unworthy  of  a  love  like  yours.  'Tis  my 
tonsciousness  of  this  that  constrains  me  tp  ic»ke  ^  in^uir^ ;  ic^f 


aoi 

Marion  remained  silent,  «8  if  she  hesitated  to  give  the  answer.  N« 
ironder.  The  question  is  one  often  asked,  but  to  which  it  is  mosi 
difficult  to  obtain  a  truthful  reply. 

There  are  reasons  for  this  reticence,  psychological  reasons,  which 
men  cannot  easily  understand.  A  woman's  citadel  is  her  heart;  and 
Ha  strength  lies  in  keeping  secret  its  conceptions.  Of  all  its  secrets 
the  most  sacred  ^  the  last  to  be  diyulged,  is  that  constituting  an  answer 
4o  the  question, — "  Why  do  you  love  me  ? " 

No  wonder  that  Henry  Holtspur  received  not  an  immediate  answer. 

Ardor,  more  than  sincerity,  led  him  to  press  for  it. 

"  I  am  a  stranger  to  your  circle,  if  not  to  your  class.  The  woiIq 
will  tell  you  that  I  am  an  adventurer.  I  accept  the  appellation, 
qualified  by  the  clause,  that  I  adventure  not  for  myself,  but  for  my 
fellow-men,  for  the  poor  taxed  slaves  who  surround  me.  Marion 
"Wade,  I  weary  you.  Give  answer  to  my  question ;  why  do  yon 
love  me  ? " 

*'  Henry !  I  know  not.  A  thousand  thoughts  crowd  upon  me.  I 
could  give  you  a  thousand  reasons  all  comprised  in  one,  /  lov€  you, 
because  I  love  you  !** 

"  Enough,  dear  Marion !  I  believe  it.  Do  you  need  me  to  dedare 
again?    Can  I  plight  my  troth  more  truly?  ** 

"  No — ^no — Henry !  I  know  that  you  love  me  now,* 

**  Now !  now  and  forever !  ** 

**  You  promise  it,  Henry  ?  " 

**  I  promise  it,  Marion." 

'*  0  Henry !  you  will  promise  me  something  more.  Toa  hsfo  said 
you  would." 

"  What  more,  Marion  ?  " 

**  I  have  told  you  that  I  would  prefer  death  to  jealousy.  I  only 
•poke  the  truth,  Henry.  I've  heard  say  that  the  heart  sometimes 
Ranges,  in  spite  of  itself.  I  don't  believe  it.  I  am  sure  mine  can 
never  change.    Could  yours,  Henry  ?  ** 

**  Never !  what  do  you  wish  me  to  promise  ?  What  is  it  you 
would  bind  me  to  ?  " 

"I've  now  but  one  thing  worth  living  for,"  responded  the  daughter 
of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  "  and  that  is  your  love,  Holtspur.  Promise 
me  that  when  you  love  me  no  more,  you  will  tell  me  you  do  not, 
truly  and  without  fear.  Promise  that,  Henry;  ^r  then  I  shall  be 
happier  to  die." 

"  Nonsense,  Marion !     Why  should  I  enter  into  such  an  idle  eon 
dition  ?    You  know  I  shall  loTe  you  as  long  as  I  Uts." 


804  AWAT—AWAT I 

"  Henry ',    Henry !  Do  not  deny  me  what  I  hare  aaked.    What  il 

there  unreasonable  in  my  request?  *' 

"  Nothing,  dearest  Marion.  If  you  insist  upon  it,  you  shall  havf 
my  promise — more  than  that,  my  oath.  I  swear  I  shall  be  candid 
and  declare  the  truth.  If  ever  my  heart  cease  to  love  you,  I  shall 
tell  you  of  its  treason.  How  easily  can  I  promise  what  can  never 
come  to  pass ! " 

"  But  you  may  be  far  away,  Henry?     Enemies  may  be  between 

as  ?    You  may  not  be  able  to  see  me  ?    Then " 

"  Then,  what  would  you  have  me  do,  dear  Marion  ?  " 

"  Return  the  token  I  have  given  you.  Send  me  back  my  glove--i 
th«  White  Gauntlet.  When  I  see  that,  'twill  tell  me  that  he  to 
whom  I  had  given  it — and  along  with  it  my  heart — that  he  who  once 
prized  the  gift,  esteems  it  no  more.  That  would  be  a  gentler  way 
than  words — for  your  words  telling  me  that  bitter  truth  might  be  the 
last  to  which  I  should  ever  listen.'* 

"  If  it  please  you,  dearest,  I  promise  to  comply  with  your  con- 
ditions— however  idle  I  may  deem  them.  Ah,  Marion  !  you  shall 
never  get  that  glove  again — never  from  me.  I  prize  the  white  gaunt- 
let too  much  ever  to  part  with  it ;  more  than  aught  else  in  the  world 
— excepting  the  white  hand  which  it  once  shielded,  and  which,  God 
willing,  shall  yet  be  mine !  " 

As  Holtspur  uttered  this  hupassioned  speech,  he  raised  the  "  white 
hand  "  to  his  hps,  and  imprinted  upon  it  a  fond,  fervent  kiss. 

It  was  the  parting  salute — though  not  intended  as  such. 

The  lightning  flashed  at  that  moment,  displaying  two  forms  in  an 
attitude  that  proclaimed  them  lovers  who  had  made  mutual  surrender 
of  their  souls. 

A  third  form  might  have  been  seen  by  the  same  light,  standmg 
outeide  the  verandah,  scarce  ten  paces  distant. 

It  was  a  female  figure,  with  the  face  of  a  young  girl — ^uncoifcd| 
uncloaked,  despite  the  pelting  of  the  pitiless  storm. 

The  lovers,  absorbed  in  their  own  sweet  thoughts,  might  not  havi 
noticed  this  intruder,  but  for  a  slight  scream  that,  escaping  from  her 
lips,  attracted  their  attention  to  her. 

When  the  Mghtning  blazed  forth  again,  she  was  gone. 

**  Oh !  *'  cried  Marion,  "it  was  like  the  shadow  of  some  evil  thing. 
Away,  Henry !  there  is  danger !    Away !  away !  " 

Without  resistance  Holtspur  yielded  to  the  solicitation. 

Rapidly  recrossing  through  the  shrubbery,  he  sprang  down  inti 
Ihe  moated  ditch,  and  glided  on  towards  the  rear  of  the  dwelling 


THIS  TTTKBVTt.  8^ 


CHAPTER  XLVn. 


THB  PUBSUR. 


Bet  Dancey  it  iras,  whose  presence,  revealed  by  that  ghaitlf  gleam, 
tuovicg  like  an  ill-omened  shadow  among  the  shrubbery,  hwl  caused 
the  lovers  to  bring  their  interview  to  such  a  sudden  ending. 

On  his  second  supplicant  gliding  silently  past  him,  the  facile  sentry 
had  followed  with  equal  alertness — this  time  not  with  any  intention 
to  plead  for  a  promised  kiss,  but  simply  to  show  his  respect  to  the 
lady  by  gallantly  conducting  her  beyond  the  bounds  of  hm 
jurisdiction. 

He  had  already  satisfied  himself  how  profuse  had  been  her  grati' 
tude — pre-paid  as  it  was. 

On  reaching  the  wicket,  he  was  once  more  doomed  to  disappoint- 
ment. Like  the  first,  his  second  visitor  had  also  disappeared.  He 
remained  some  moments  gazing  after  her,  but  soon  feeling  discon- 
solate in  the  darkness,  he  determined  on  returning  to  the  store-room 
for  his  lamp. 

Amidst  the  many  surprises  of  the  night,  he  was  now  to  experience 
the  greatest  of  all. 

On  entering  within  the  apartment,  and  raising  the  lantern  to  th« 
level  of  his  eyes,  in  order  to  assure  himself  of  his  prisoner's  safety, 
his  astonishment  scarce  equaled  his  consternation  when,  instead  of 
the  cavalier  lying  bound  along  the  bench.  Bet  Dancey  stood  boldly 
before  him.  He  no  longer  thought  of  claiming  that  promised  kiss. 
A  sudden  perception  of  his  own  stupidity  had  driven  all  amorous 
inclinations  out  of  his  mind. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  rush  out  and  give  the  alarm  to  his  com- 
rades of  the  guard.  In  obedience  to  this  impulse  he  hurried  oflf  into 
the  yarS,  but  in  the  confusion  of  ideas  caused  by  his  surprise,  he 
neglected  to  close  the  store-room  door;  and  while  he  was  absent 
upon  his  errand  the  substitute  for  the  patriot  prisoner  quietly  slipped 
out,  and  gliding  along  the  dark  archway,  emerged  through  the  wickfl 
vitbout  let  or  i^te^ruptio)l. 


100 


THE   PUKSTTIT. 


She  had  fitced  towards  the  rear  of  the  house,  with  the  faitentlon  of 
taking  her  departure,  when  an  unlucky  idea  prompted  het  to  turn  in 
the  opposite  direction. 

She  remembered  Marion's  visit  to  the  prison.  Had  her  Udj  rival 
yet  gone  to  rest  ?  Might  they,  by  some  chance,  perhaps  by  design, 
might  they  have  come  together? 

Under  the  influence  of  this  suspicion,  the  girl  glided  along  the  wal! 
towards  the  western  front  of  the  mansion. 

A  low  murmur  of  voices  guided  her  to  the  verandah,  a  few  stealthy 
steps  brought  her  within  sight  of  two  figures  in  juxtaposition,  a 
flash  of  lightning  revealed  who  they  were,  at  the  same  time  disclosing 
%  sight  that  scorched  her  heart  to  its  very  core. 

Her  first  thought  was  to  spring  forward  and  interrupt  the  inter- 
view, to  revile,  upbraid,  anything  for  the  satisfaction  of  her  jealous 
vengeance. 

She  was  on  the  eve  of  thus  acting,  when  a  noise  heard  from  behind 
caused  her  to  stay  her  intent.  It  was  the  murmur  of  men's  voices, 
mingled  with  the  clanking  of  steel  scabbards.  It  was  the  cuirassier 
guard  issuing  forth  in  pursuit. 

This  suggested  to  Bet  Dancey  a  better  mode  of  redressing  her  fim- 
ded  wrong.  She  could  restore  Holtspur  to  the  same  prison  from 
which  she  had  set  him  free.  She  cared  not  for  the  pain  it  might  cause 
to  herself,  so  that  it  should  wring  the  heart  of  her  rival. 

It  was  but  to  return  to  the  gateway ;  communicate  with  the  guard 
and  conduct  them  to  the  verandah. 

All  this  was  done  in  tfie  shortest  space  of  time;  but  short  as  it 
was,  during  the  interval,  the  lovers  had  spoken  their  parting  word, 
and  had  hastily  separated. 

Just  as  Holtspur  leaped  down  into  the  ditch,  half  a  dozen  cuiras* 
Biers,  headed  by  a  woman,  were  seen  hurrying  around  the  angle  of 
the  building  towards  its  western  ^a^octe. 

As  they  spoke  only  in  low  mutterings,  and  advanced  with  stealthy 
steps,  it  was  evident  they  expected  to  surprise  the  lovers  on  the  spot 
they  had  so  recently  quitted.  The  woman,  keeping  in  the  lead,  ap- 
peared to  direct  their  movements. 

The  rain,  which  had  now  ceased  to  fall,  had  been  succeeded  by  a 
clearing  of  the  sky ;  and  the  interior  of  the  verandah  co^ild  be  viewed 
from  end  to  end.    There  was  no  one  inside  it ! 

The  cuirassiers  scanned  the  gallery  with  looks  9f  disappointment 

«  He'i  not  ber«.  not  a  sign  of  him,"  said  one,  whoM  Toipe,  from  ifv 


niE  ptjRstrrt.  SOI 

altered  and  lugubrious  tones,  could  with  difficulty  b©  recognized  ttM 
thai  of  the  outwitted  sentinel. 

"  Oh  Lord !  what'll  become  of  me,  if  he's  got  oflf?" 

Turning  to  the  woman,  he  appeared  to  make  some  appeal  to  her  ii 
an  under-tone. 

"  If  he's  gone  from  here,"  answered  she,  speaking  in  a  voice  thai 
betrayed  deep  emotion,  "it  isn't  a  minute  ago.  Oh,  I  wish  you  had 
found  him,  and  her  too— how  glad  I'd  be  to  have  her  exposed — tht 
proud — saucy  dame ! " 

"  Who  are  you  speaking  about  ?    Is  it  the  lady  in  velvet  ? " 

"  No  matter  who.  Go  after  him.  You  can't  fail  to  overtake  him 
yet.    Oh !  bring  him  back,  and  then  we'll  see  whether  she " 

"We  may  go  twenty  ways,  and  not  the  right  one,"  said  the 
corporal  of  the  guard,  coming  up  and  taking  part  in  the  hurried  dia- 
logue. 

"  No,  no ! "  cried  the  woman,  "  you  can't  go  the  wrong  one.  Pasa 
out  by  the  back  of  the  park.  Take  the  road  for  Hedgerley ;  only 
don't  turn  that  way.  Keep  the  back  path  straight  on  by  Wopsey's 
Wood.  That's  the  way  they're  to  take :  it  was  all  arranged.  Come ! 
I'll  go  along  with  you — come !  come !  " 

In  a  voice  thus  earnestly  directing  the  pursuit  of  the  escaped  priso* 
ner  could  be  recognized  that,  which,  scarce  twenty  minutes  before, 
had  been  so  earnestly  urging  him  to  escape — the  voice  of  Bet  Dancey. 

Was  it  a  ruse  to  mislead  the  guard,  or  send  them  on  a  wrong 
track  ?    No :  it  was  her  design  to  cause  his  recapture. 

In  the  short  period  of  ten  minutes  a  change  had  passed  over  Bet- 
■ey's  proud  spirit — transforming  her  from  a  self-sacrificing  friend,  to 
an  enemy  equally  devoting  herself  to  Holtspur's  destruction. 

In  her  outraged  bosom  a  revulsion  had  arisen,  that  stirred  her  soul 
to  its  profoundest  depths ;  and  filled  her  heart  with  eager  longings  oi 
revenge.  She  had  seen  the  man  she  madly  loved — for  whom  she  had 
risked,  if  not  life,  at  least  liberty  and  reputation — in  the  arms  oi 
another ;  a  bright  and  beautiful  rival ;  his  own  arms  fondly  entwin- 
ing that  other's  form ;  his  lips  fervently  pressing  hers.  No  wonder 
the  heart  of  the  passionate  peasant,  distraught  by  such  a  spectacle, 
had  yielded  to  the  promptings  of  revenge ! 

"  Come  on !  "  she  cried,  gesticulating  to  the  cuirassiers  to  follow 
her,  "  on  to  the  Hedgerley  road !  " 

"  Our  horses  ? "  suggested  the  guard  corporal. 

"  No,  no ! "  responded  the  girl.  "  By  lue  tune  you  could  get  them, 
be  will  hav«  gone  where  I  don't  know  how  to  find  him.      Come  M 


lod 

jreu  are ;  and  1*11  answer  for  orertLking  - .  now.  fl^ey  won't  hav« 
any  horses  till  they  get  beyond  Wopsey'cJ  V,  jod.  Come  then,  if  yon 
vrant  to  retake  your  prisoner."     ' 

The  others  were  disposed  to  set  forth  at  once,  and  afoot.  Withers, 
although  for  special  reasons  the  most  eager  of  any,  appeared  to  hesi' 
late. 

"  Yer  sure  ye  don't  want  to  mislead  us,  Betsey?  Ye've  fooled  ma 
once  this  night ;  an*  hang  me  if  I  let  ye  go,  till  I*ve  laid  hands  on 
*im !  ** 

"  Nonsense  !  **  exclaimed  the  girl,  "  haven  *t  I  told  you  why  I  help- 
ed to  let  him  out  ?  The  lady  that  sent  me,  would  have  given  her  eyes 
to  see  him ;  but  since  he's  taken  to  the  other,  I  know  she'll  be  only 
too  glad  to  hear  that  he's  brought  back  to  his  prison.  Much  as  she'd 
a  thanked  me  for  getting  him  out,  when  I  tell  her  what  I've  seen, 
she'll  give  double  to  have  him  retook.  Don't  be  silly  then.  You'll 
suffer  if  he  escapes.    Come  on  with  me,  and  I'll  promise  bre  shan't.** 

The  prospect  of  his  prisoner  getting  clear  off  and  its  consequences 
to  himself,  thus  forcibly  brought  before  the  mind  of  the  negligent 
sentinel,  at  once  put  a  period  to  his  indecision ;  and  without  further 
opposition  he  threw  hhnself  along  with  the  others ;  who,  yielding  to 
the  guidance  of  the  girl,  hurried  off  upon  the  pursuit. 

Instead  of  going  to  the  point  of  rendezvous,  which  she  had  ^ven 
to  Holtspur  himself,  Bet  conducted  the  cuirassiers  out  of  the  park  by 
a  path  altogether  different.  She  knew  that  the  fugitive  must  by  that 
time  have  found  those  to  whom  she  had  directed  him.  He  would  be 
no  1  mger  within  the  limits  of  the  park;  but  on  his  way  np  the  back 
road  to  Beaconsfield.  To  intercept  him  was  her  design ;  and  this 
might  still  be  done,  by  hastening  along  a  by-path  well  known  to  her^ 
which  by  a  sho'rter  route  debouched  upon  the  road  he  would  have  to 
take.     By  this  path,  therefore,  did  she  conduct  his  pursuers. 

On  reaching  the  road  the  party  moved  more  slowly.  The  rain  had 
ceased  falling,  and  the  moon  had  suddenly  made  its  appearance  in  a 
cloudless  sky.  The  corporal  of  the  guard,  who  chanced  to  be  an  ex- 
perienced scout,  here  commanded  a  halt. 

"  We  needn't  go  any  further  this  way,**  said  he,  glancing  towards 
the  ground  .  "  No  one  has  passed  up  this  road  before  us.  You  see, 
my  pretty  guide,  there's  not  a  track  ? " 

*  Then  we  must  be  ahead  o'  thera,"  replied  the  individual  thus  ad 
dressed.     "  I  know  they  were  to  come  this  way — I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Xa  that  case  we  had  best  wait  here,""  muttered  the  corporal  U 


30* 

his  muk.  "  It's  ft  capital  spot  for  tn  ambuscade.  These  biishes  will 
conceal  as  from  the  eyes  of  any  one  coming  along  the  road,  ilusb ! 
surely  T  heard  a  voice  ? " 

The  guard,  hitherto  addressing  each  other  only  in  whispers,  obeyed 
the  command  of  the  corporal ;  and  stood  silently  listening. 

Sure  enough  there  was  a  voice — a  human  voice.  It  sounded  lik« 
the  moaning  of  some  one  who  lay  upon  a  bed  of  sickness  !  It  was 
low,  and  apparently  distant. 

"  It's  like  as  if  some  poor  devil  was  giving  his  last  kick,"  muttered 
one  of  the  cuirassiers. 

"  It's  only  the  owls  hooting  among  the  trees,"  suggested  another. 

** Hush  !  "  again  exclaimed  the  corporal.  "There  are  other  yoicea 
— ^nearer.    Hush ! 

"  Good ! "  he  ejaculated,  after  listening  awhile. 

"  There  are  men  coming  along  the  road  behind  us !  It  must  be  them  ! 
Here!  three  of  you  on  this  side;  the  others  across  the  road.  Lie 
quiet  till  they  come  close  up.  When  I  give  the  word,  spring  out  upcn 
them.  Quick,  comrades !  Not  a  movement  till  you  hear  my  si^ 
nal!" 

Promptly  obedient  to  these  instructions,  the  soldiers  drew  them- 
selves into  the  thicket — some  dropping  upon  their  knees  among  the 
bushes — others  standing  erect,  but  screening  their  bodies  behind  the 
trunks  of  the  beeches. 

The  corporal  disposed  of  himself  in  a  similar  fashion ;  while  the 
guide,  having  glided  off  to  a  greater  distance,  stood  trembling  among 
the  trees — ^like  some  guilty  denouncer — dreading  to  look  upon  the 
ipectacle  of  that  capture  she  had  conducted  to  the  probability  of  • 
to6  oartaiB  tiiooeM. 


no 


OnAPTSB  XLVm 


BIOAFTUSSII. 


On  arriving  at  the  rear  of  the  garden,  Holtspur  had  emerged  out  ol 
the  moat,  and  struck  across  the  open  pasture  in  a  direct  line  for  the 
timber.  The  darkness  was  still  sufficiently  obscure  to  hinder  his  be* 
ing  seen — at  least,  from  any  great  distance ;  though  there  were  those 
standing  within  the  shadow  of  the  trees  who  had  marked  his 
approach. 

A  low  whistle — ^peculiarly  intoned — told  him  that  he  was  observed, 
and  by  friends :  for  in  that  whistle  he  recognized  an  old  hunting  signal 
of  his  ancient  henchman — Gregory  Garth. 

There  was  no  need  to  make  reply.  In  an  instant  after,  Qarth  was 
by  his  side — accompanied  by  the  deer-stealer. 

The  plan  of  further  proceedings  took  not  much  time  to  concert. 

The  programme  had  been  already  traced  out  subject  to  such  ood^ 
tingencies  as  might  unexpectedly  arise. 

Dancey  was  to  hurry  back  to  his  cottage,  where  Oriole  had  been 
left  in  charge  of  Garth's  horse — that  steed  of  the  royal  statues— 
which,  along  with  Dancey's  nag,  was  the  only  mount  that  could  be 
provided  for  the  occasion.  But  as  Dancey  himself  was  to  stay  behind 
—there  being  no  call  for  his  expatriation  just  at  that  crisis — and  as 
the  Indian  could  track  it  afoot  almost  as  fast  as  on  horseback,  the 
two  horses  had  been  deemed  sufficient  for  the  necessity. 

The  woodman's  dwelling  lay  near  the  Oxford  highway;  and  as  it 
would  waste  some  time  to  bring  the  horses  across  to  the  back  road, 
running  past  Hedgerley,  it  had  been  decided  that  they  should  be 
taken  along  a  private  path  through  Wapsey's.Wood,  by  Dancey  and 
the  Indian — there  to  be  met  by  Holtspur  and  Garth  going  afoot  along 
the  parallel,  but  less  frequented  road. 

This  arrangement,  cunningly  schemed  by  Garth,  had  in  view  tne 
possibiUty  of  a  pursuit,  with  the  probability,  in  such  case,  that  the 
pursuers  would  naturally  keep  along  the  high  road. 

The  rendezvous  having  been  arranged,  the  deer-stalker  took  his 
way  back  towards  his  own  domicile;  while  Garth,  ccnducting  Holt 


m 

ipur  through  the  tract  of  timber  with  which  he  had  already  mad« 
himself  acquainted,  climbed  out  over  the  palings  of  the  park ;  and 
turned  along  the  bridle  road  running  towards  Hedgerley. 

Haifa  mile  brought  them  to  a  point  where  Wapsey's  Wood  skhrted 
the  road-  separated  from  it  by  a  rude  fence. 

Garth  was  going  in  the  advance,  and  for  a  time  keeping  fiilence— 
AS  if  busied  with  some  abstruse  calculation. 

"  There  be  a  tidyish  bit  o'  night  left  yet,"  he  at  length  remarked, 
glancing  up  to  the  sky,  "I  shed  think  I*ve  time  enough  for  that  bi*- 


The  remark  was  made  to  himself,  rather  than  to  his  companion, 
and  as  if  to  satisfy  his  mind,  about  some  doubt  he  had  been  indulg- 
ing in. 

"  Time  enough  for  what  ? "  asked  Holtspur,  who  had  overheard 
the  muttered  observation. 

"  Oh !  nothin'  muchish.  Master  Henry — only  a  little  bit  o'  bizness 
I*ve  got  to  attend  to  over  i'  the  wood  there.  'Twon't  take  ten  min- 
utes ;  an',  as  time's  precious,  I  can  tell  ye  'bout  it  when  I  gets  back. 
Ah !  theear's  the  gap  I  war  lookin'  for.  If  ye'll  jest  keep  on  at  yer 
leisure,  I'll  overtake  yer  afore  ye  ken  get  t'other  side  o'  the  wood. 
If  I  doan't,  pleeze  wait  a  bit.    I'll  be  up  i'  three  kicks  o*  a'  old  cow." 

Saying  this,  the  ex-footpad  glided  through  the  gap;  and  striking 
off  among  the  trees,  soon  disappeared  behind  their  close  standing 
trunks. 

Holtspur,  slackening  his  pace,  moved  on  along  the  road — ^not  with- 
out wondering  what  cotild  be  the  motive  that  had  carried  his  eccentric 
conductor  so  suddenly  away  from  him. 

Soon,  however,  his  thoughts  reverted  to  her  from  whom  he  had  so 
late  separated ;  and,  as  he  walked  under  the  silent  shadows  of  the 
trees^  his  spirit  gave  way  to  indulgence  in  a  retrospect  of  that  sweet 
■cene,  "wdth  which  his  memory  was  still  warmly  glowing. 

From  the  rain  that  had  fallen,  the  flowers,  copiously  bedewed,  were 
giving  out  their  incense  on  the  soft  air  of  the  autumn  night.  The 
moon  had  suddenly  made  her  appearance,  amid  banks  of  fleecy  clouds, 
that  were  fantastically  flitting  across  the  face  of  the  azure  heaven. 

Under  her  cheering  light  Holtspur  sauntered  leisurely  along,  re- 
viewing  over  ard  over  again  the  immediate  and  pleasant  past ;  which, 
notwithstanding  the  clouds  that  lowered  over  his  future,  had  th« 
effect  of  tinging  it  vrith  a  roseate  effulgence. 

There  were  perils  before,  as  well  as  behind  him.  His  liberty  u 
his  life,  was  still  in  danger.    He  knew  all  this;  hut  in  the  revel  of 


m 

that  fond  retrospect — with  the  soft  voice  of  Marion  Wadb  f&t  rin^n| 
&  his  ears — ^her  kisses  still  clinging  to  his  lips — ^how  could  he  bf 
otherwise  than  oblivious  of  danger  ? 

Alas  !  for  his  safety  he  was  so— recklessly  oblivious  of  it — forget- 
ful of  all  but  the  interview  just  ended,  and  which  seemed  rather  a 
delicious  dream  than  an  experience  of  sober  real  life. 

Thus  sweetly  absorbed,  he  had  advanced  along  the  road  to  the  ill" 
tance  of  some  two  or  three  hundred  yards  from  the  place  where  Garth 
had  left  him.  He  was  still  continuing  to  advance,  when  a  sounds 
beard  far  off  in  the  wood,  interrupted  his  reflections — at  the  same 
time  causing  him  to  stop  and  listen. 

It  was  a  human  voice ;   and  resembled  the  moaning  of  a  man  hi 
pain;  but  at  intervals  it  was  raised  to  a  higher  pitch,  as  though  ut 
tered  in  angry  ejaculation. 

At  that  hour  of  the  night,  and  in  such  a  lonely  neighborhood — fol 
Holtspur  knew  it  was  a  thinly  peopled  district — these  sounds  seemed 
all  the  stranger ;  and  as  they  appeared  to  proceed  from  the  exact  di- 
rection in  which  Garth  had  gone,  Holtspur  could  not  do  otherwise 
than  connect  them  with  his  companion. 

Gregory  must  be  making  the  noises,  in  some  way  or  other  ?  But 
how  ?  What  should  he  be  groaning  about  ?  Or  for  what  were  those 
exclamations  of  anger  ? 

Holtspur  had  barely  time  to  shape  these  interrogatories,  before  the 
sound  became  changed — not  so  much  in  tone  as  intensity.  It  waa 
still  uttered  in  meanings  and  angry  ejaculations  ;  but  the  former,  in- 
stead of  appearing  distant  and  long-drawn  as  before,  were  now  heard 
more  distinctly ;  while  the  latter,  becoming  more  sharper  and  of  more 
angry  intonation,  were  not  pronounced  as  before  in  monologue,  but 
in  two  distinct  voices — as  if  at  least  two  individuals  were  taking  part 
in  the  indignant  duetto. 

'  What  it  was  that  was  thus  waking  up  the  nocturnal  echoes  of  Wap- 
sey's  Wood  was  a  puzzle  to  Henry  Holtspur ;  nor  did  it  assist  him 
in  the  elucidation,  to  hear  one  of  the  voices — ^that  which  gave  out  the 
melancholy  moanings — at  intervals  interrupted  by  the  other  in  peala 
♦f  loud  laughter ! 

On  the  contrary,  it  only  rendered  the  fearful  fracas  more  difllculi 
of  explanation. 

Holtspur  now  recognized  the  laughing  voice  to  be  that  of  Gregory 
Qmrth;  though  why  the  ex-footpad  was  giving  utterance  to  such  jovii 
aacbinnatioQS  he  could  not  even  coi^ecture. 


Lonely  M  was  the  road,  on  which  he  had  been  so  unceremoniously 
fcrsaken,  he  was  not  the  only  one  traversing  it  at  that  hour. 

His  pursuers  were  also  upon  it — ^not  behind  but  before  him — like 
himself  listening  with  mystified  understandings  to  those  strange 
founds. 

Absorbed  in  seeking  a  solution  of  them,  Holtspur  failed  to  perceive 
the  half-dozen  figures  that,  disengaging  themselves  from  the  tree- 
irunks,  behind  which  they  had  been  concealed,  were  closing  stealthily 
■nd  silently  around  him. 

It  was  too  late  when  he  did  perceive  them — ^too  late,  either  for 
flight  or  defence. 

He  sprang  to  one  side ;  but  only  to  be  caught  in  the  grasp  of  the 
stalwart  corporal  of  the  guard. 

The  latter  might  have  been  shaken  off;  but  the  sentry  Withers — 
compromised  by  the  prisoner's  escape,  and  therefore  deeply  interest- 
ed in  his  detention — had  closed  upon  him  from  the  opposite  side ;  and 
in  quick  succession,  the  others  of  the  cuirassier  guard  had  flung  them- 
ielves  around  him. 

Holtspur  was  altogether  unarmed. 

Resistance  could  only  end  in  his  being  thrust  through  by  their 
•words,  or  impaled  upon  their  halberts ;  and  once  more  the  gallant 
cavalier,  who  could  not  have  been  vanquished  by  a  single  antagonist, 
was  forced  to  yield  to  that  fate  which  may  befall  the  bravest. 

He  had  to  succumb  to  the  strength  of  superior  numbers. 

Marched  afoot  between  a  double  file  of  his  captors,  he  was  con- 
ducted back  along  the  road,  towards  the  prison  from  which  he  had  so 
recently  escaped. 

The  mingled  groans  and  laughter  still  continued  to  wake  up  the 
echoes  of  Wapsey's  Wood. 

To  Holtspur  they  were  only  intelligible,  so  far  as  that  the  laughing 
part  in  the  duet  was  being  performed  by  the  ex-footpad — Gregory 
Garth. 

The  soldiers,  intent  upon  retaining  their  prisoner,  gave  no  further 
heed  to  them,  than  to  remark  upon  their  strangeness. 

But  for  the  merry  peals  at  intervals  interrupting  the  more  lugub- 
rious utterances,  they  might  have  supposed  that  a  foul  murder  was 
being  committed. 

But  the  laughter  forbade  this  supposition ;  and  Holtspur's  guard 
passed  out  of  hearing  of  the  strange  noises,  under  the  impression  that 


•14  TWO   TEAVELEKS. 

they  came  from  a  camp  of  gipsies,  who,  in  their  nocturnal  orgies, 
celebrating  some  ceremony  of  their  vagrant  ritual. 

She  who  had  been  the  instrument  of  Holtspur's  dehvery,  had  a,\s4 
played  the  chief  part  in  his  recapture. 

Following  his  captors  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees,  unseen  by  him 
and  them,  she  had  continued  a  spectator  to  all  that  passed;  for  9 
time  giving  way  to  the  joy  of  her  jealous  vengeance. 

Soon,  however,  on  seeing  the  rude  treatment  to  which  her  victim 
was  subjected — when  she  witnessed  the  jostUng,  and  heard  tnejeera 
of  his  triumphant  captors,  her  spirit  recoiled  from  the  act  she  had 
committed ;  and  when,  at  length,  the  court-yard  gate  was  closed  upoc 
the  betrayed  patriot,  the  daughter  of  Dick  Dancey  fell  prostrate  upoc 
the  sward,  »nd  bedewed  the  grass  with  tears  of  bitter  repentance ! 


OHAPTER  XLUL 


TWO  Tai.Y>LBB8. 


About  tn  hour  after  the  recapture  of  Henry  Holtspur,  two  meu 
might  have  been  seen  descending  the  long  slope  of  Red  Hill,  in  the 
direction  of  Uxbridge. 

They  were  both  men  of  large  stature,  one  of  them  almost  gigantic 
They  were  on  horseback ;  the  younger  of  the  two  bestriding  a  good 
steed ;  while  his  older  ,  and  more  colossal  companion,  was  mounted 
upon  as  sorry  a  jade  as  ever  set  hoof  upon  a  road. 

The  first,  booted  and  spurred ;  with  a  plumed  hat  upon  his  head, 
and  gauntlets  upon  his  wrists ;  in  the  obscure  light  might  have  been 
mistaken  for  a  cavalier.  When  the  moon  made  its  appearance  from 
behind  the  clouds,  which  happened  at  intervals,  a  certain  bizarrerU 
about  his  costume  forbade  the  supposition ;  and  the  stalwart  form  and 
»warth  visage  of  Qregory  Garth  were  then  too  oonspiououi  to  eacapt 


su 

rtoog&itioi:,  bj  way  acquaintance  he  might  haTe  encountered  upon  Uit 
road. 

The  more  rustic  garb  of  his  trayeling  companion,  as  well  as  the 
figure  it  enycloped,  could,  withequai  facility,  be  identified  as  belong 
faig  to  Dick  Dancey,  the  deer-stealer. 

The  presence  of  these  two  worthies  on  horseback,  and  riding 
towards  Uxbridge,  was  not  without  a  purpose,  presently  to  be 
«xphuned. 

The  cuirassiers  had  been  astray  in  conjecturing  that  the  noises 
"tmxd  in  Wapsey's  Wood  proceeded  from  a  gang  of  gipsies. 

It  was  nothing  of  the  kind. 

What  they  heard  was  simply  Gregory  Garth  engaged  in  the  per- 
Ibrmance  of  that  promise  he  had  made  in  the  morning. 

Although  he  did  not  carry  out  his  threat  to  the  exact  letter,  he  ex- 
ecuted it  in  the  spirit ;  taking  his  departure  from  the  bedside  of  Wil 
Walford,  only  after  every  bone  in  the  woodman's  body  had  been  made 
to  taste  the  quality  of  the  cudgel  expressly  cut  for  the  occasion. 

It  is  possible  that  Will  Walford  *s  punishment  might  have  been 
■till  more  severe,  but  that  his  castigator  was  pressed  for -time,  so 
much  so,  that  he  left  the  wretch  without  releasing  him ;  with  a  set  of 
■uffering  bones,  and  a  skin  that  exhibited  all  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow. 

After  thus  settling  accounts  with  the  "  treetur,"  as  he  called  him, 
Garth  had  thrown  away  his  holly  stick ;  and  hastened  back  to  the 
road. 

Under  the  supposition  that  Holtspur  was  by  that  time  advancing 
iome  distance  towards  Beaconsfield,  he  hurried  on  to  overtake  him. 

The  moon  was  shining  full  upon  the  track;  and  in  the  dust,  which 
Ihe  rain  had  recently  converted  into  mud,  the  ex-footpad  did  not  fail 
to  perceive  a  number  of  footprints. 

In  the  exercise  ef  his  peculiar  calling,  he  had  been  accustomed  t« 
Aote  such  signs  ^  Aad  had  acquired  a  skill  in  their  interpretation  equal 
to  that  of  a  backwoods  hunter. 

Instantly  he  stopped,  and  commenced  scrutinizing  the  signs. 

He  was  upon  the  spot  where  the  capture  had  been  accomplished. 

The  footmarks  of  six  or  seven  men,  who  had  been  springing  vio- 
lently from  aide  to  side,  had  left  long  slides  and  scratches  in  the  damp 
dust. 

The  tracka  of  the  troopers  were  easily  distinguished ;  and,  in  theb 
iddft,  the  more  elegant  unprint  of  a  cavalier's  boot. 


Ill  TWO   TRAVELERS. 

Garth  needed  no  further  evidence  of  the  mi&ortone  that  had  be* 
fallen. 

Beyond  doubt  his  master  had  been  once  more  made  a  prisoner ;  and 
tursing  himself  for  being  the  cause,  he  mechanically  traced  the  back- 
ward tracks,  his  despondent  air  proclaiming  that  he  had  but  Httle  hop€ 
of  being  able  to  effect  a  rescue. 

Returning  upon  the  traces  of  the  cuirassier  guards,  he  re-entered 
the  park,  and  advanced  towards  the  mansion,  which  the  darkneM 
enabled  him  to  do  with  safety. 

There  he  had  discovered  Bet  Dancey,  a  sorrowing  penitent,  pros- 
trate upon  the  ground,  where,  in  her  distraction,  she  had  thrown 
herself. 

From  the  girl  he  had  obtained  confirmation  of  there-capture,  though 
not  the  true  cause  either  of  that,  or  her  own  grief. 

Her  statement  was  simple.  The  guards  had  followed  Master  Holt- 
■pur ;  they  had  overtaken,  overpowered,  and  brought  him  back :  h« 
was  once  more  locked  up  within  the  store-room. 

The  hope  of  again  delivering  him  out  of  the  hands  of  his  enemies, 
might  have  appeared  too  slender  to  be  entertained  by  any  one ;  and 
for  a  time  it  did  so — even  to  the  unflinching  spirit  of  his  old  retainer. 

But  the  ex-footpad,  when  contemplating  the  chances  of  getting  out 
of  a  prison,  was  not  the  man  to  remain  the  slave  of  despair — at  least 
for  any  length  of  time ;  and  no  sooner  had  he  satisfied  himself  that 
his  master  was  once  more  encaged,  than  he  set  his  wits  freshly  U 
work,  to  contrive  some  new  scheme  for  his  dehverance. 

From  the  store-room,  in  which  Holtspur  was  again  confined,  it 
would  be  no  longer  possible  to  extricate  him.  The  trick,  already 
tried,  could  not  succeed  a  second  time.  Withers  was  the  only  one  of 
the  guards  who  might  have  been  tempted ;  but  after  his  affright,  it 
was  not  likely  that  either  the  promise  of  kisses,  or  the  profier  of  gold 
pieces,  would  again  seduce  the  sentry  from  the  strict  line  of  duty. 

But  Garth  did  not  contemplate  any  such  repetition.    An  idea  that 
promised  a  better  chance  of  success  had  ofiered  itself  to  his  mind. 
To  set  free  his  master  by  strategy  was  henceforth  plainly  impractica 
ble.    Perhaps  it  might  be  done  by  strength  ? 

Not  in  Bulstrode  mansion — where  the  prisoner  was  siirroimd»d  by 
fourscore  cuirassiers  ?    No — cleirly  not. 

There  could  be  no  possibility  of  accomplishing  a  rescue  there ;  nor 
did  Gregory  Garth  give  it  a  moment's  thought.  His  ideas  became  ii 
rected  to  the  road  that  lay  between  the  two  prisons — the  store-room 
«ad  the  Tower.    He  already  knew  that  Holtspur  was  to  be  tr»nif«r> 


TWO  TRAVELERS,  Wt 

red  from  one  to  the  other ;  and  on  the  following  day,  during  the  trMi- 
■it,  might  there  not  be  some  chance  of  effecting  a  rescue  ? 

Garth  knew  the  London  Road — every  inch  of  it — and,  iii  one  way 
or  other,  was  acquainted  with  most  of  the  people  who  dwelt  near  it. 

Although  upon  an  odd  individual,  here  and  there,  he  had  practiced 
his  pecuhar  vocation,  there  were  few  with  whom  he  was  upon  hos- 
tile terms.  With  many  he  held  relations  of  friendship ;  and  with  a 
goodly  number  certain  other  relations,  that  should  entitle  him  to  an 
met  of  service  at  their  hands. 

With  a  plan — but  still  only  half  developed — he  had  once  more  hur- 
ried back  along  the  Hedgerly  road,  towards  the  rendezvous,  wher* 
Dancey  and  the  Indian  had  already  arrived  with  their  horses. 

He  found  them  waiting,  and  apprehensive ; — almost  expecting  the 
sad  tidings  he  had  to  communicate — the  failure  of  their  enterprise. 

As  Garth,  during  the  backward  tramp,  had  more  definitively  ar- 
ranged his  programme  of  action,  there  was  no  time  wasted  in  con- 
sultation. Dancey  readily  consented  to  the  proposal,  to  become  his 
confederate  in  the  scheme  he  had  so  promptly  conceived. 

Oriole  having  been  directed  to  return  to  Stone  Dean,  the  ex-footpad 
sprang  upon  his  stolen  steed ;  and,  followed  by  the  deer-stealer  on  his 
scraggy  cob,  at  once  started  off  along  a  bridle  path,  which  winding 
around  the  southern  boundary  of  Bulstrode  Park,  would  bring  them 
to  the  king's  highway,  where  the  latter  crossed  over  the  elevated 
plain  of  Jarret's  Heath. 

It  is  in  pursuance  of  the  scheme  conceived  by  Garth,  that  he  and 
his  companion  were  descending  Ked  Hill  at  that  early  hour  in  tht 
morning. 

Whithersoever  bent,  they  were  evidently  in  haste  to  reach  their 
destination — more  especially  Garth,  who  was  constantly  urging  his 
companion  to  keep  up  with  him.  The  quadruped  bestridden  by  the 
deer-stealer  was  the  chief  obstruction  to  their  speed  ;  and,  despite 
the  frequent  application  of  a  stout  stick,  which  his  rider  carried  in 
hand,  and  the  pricking  of  a  rusty  spur  fastened  upon  his  heel,  th« 
sorry  hack  could  not  be  urged  beyond  a  slow  shuflQing  trot — discon* 
tinued  the  instant  the  stimulus  of  stick  and  spur  were  suspended. 

"  The  devil  bum  yer  beest,  Dancey ! "  cried  the  ex-footpad,  losing 
all  impatience  at  the  slow  pace  of  the  animal.  "  We'll  not  ha'  nigh 
dme  enough  to  see  them  all.  From  what  yer  daughter  larnt  yesterd'y 
the  sogers  *il  bring  their  prisoner  down  the  road,  the  fust  thing  i'  the 
nornin*.    They'll  do  that,  so's  to  make  the  journey  to  Lonnon  aibre 


•18  TWO   I'EAVELEES. 

night.  No  donbt  about  their  gettin*  to  Uxbridge  b'  ten  c  the  clock; 
»n*  jest  see  what  we've  got  to  do  afore  then.  Stick  the  spur  into  *im 
— ^up  to  the  shank,  Dancej !  The  lazy  brute !  I'd  make  'im  goo,  il 
I  war  astride  o'  him." 

"  The  poor  creetur  ! "  compassionately  rejoined  Dancey,  by  waj 
of  an  apology  for  his  nag;  "  he  han't  had'  a  bit  o'  anythin*  to  eat  for 
a  week,  'ceptin'  what  he  ha'  grubbed  off  o*  the  roadside.  N«  wonder 
he  bean't  much  for  a  fast  journey.'* 

"  Lucky  it  isn't  a  longish  one.  If  we  had  Lonnon  afore  us  we'd 
niver  get  there !  As  it  is— ha  !  now  I  think  on't,  I've  got  a  idea  as 
*11  save  time.  There  be  no  use  for  us  to  keep  thegither.  Ye  go  round 
Denham  way,  an'  warn  yer  friends  there.  Ye  can  cross  the  Colne 
higher  up,  an*  scud  on  to  the  Harefield  fellows.  I'll  take  Uxbridge 
an'  Hillindon,  an'  along  i'  the  Drayton  d'rection.  That'll  be  our  best 
plan.  We  ken  meet  at  the  Rose  an'  Crown,  as  soon  as  weVe  got 
through.  I'll  go  there  fust,  so  as  te  gi'e  ole  Browney  a  hint  *bout 
gettin'  his  tap  ready.  Lucky  I  ha'  been  able  to  borrow  some  money 
'pon  a  watch  I  chanced  'on — a  tydish  bit — else  we  mightn't  find  thest 
patriots  so  free  to  lend  us  a  hand.  I  shall  spend  it  all — every  stiver 
o't — ^for  the  rescue  o'  Master  Henry." 

"  I  han't  got  nothin'  to  spend,  or  I'd  do  the  same  for  'im,"  returned 
the  deer-stealer.  "  He  be  the  best  an'  Uberallest  gentleman  ever 
coom  about  these  parts — that  be  he." 

"  Ye're  not  far  wrong  about  that.  Master  Dancey.  Too  good  • 
gentleman  to  heve  his  head  chopped  off  for  speakin'  no  more  than's 
the  truth ;  an'  we  must  do  our  best  to  holp  'im  keep  it  on  his  shou'- 
ders.  There's  yer  road  to  Denham.  Stick  the  spur  into  yer  blessed 
beest,  an'  make  'im  do  his  d — ^t.  Be  sure  ye  meet  me  at  the  bridge 
— afore  ten." 

And  with  these  injunctions  the  ex-footpad  separated  from  the  de«r- 
gtealer — the  latter  turning  off  upon  the  lane  which  led  to  the  rillagi 
of  Denham ;  while  the  former  <^^ontinued  along  the  direct  road  toward! 
the  town  of  Uxbridge 


THE  E8C0BT.  •!• 


OHAPTEBL 


At  that  early  hour  all  the  world  appeared  to  be  asleep—^flenoe  and 
slumber  having  been  seemingly  restored  to  the  lately  disturbed  in- 
mates of  Bulstrode  mansion ;  though  not  all  of  these  had  been  dis- 
turbed by  the   incidents  we  have  described. 

Happy  at  the  thought  of  having  humiliated  his  rival,  and  the  hope 
of  eventually  crushing  him  altogether,  Captain  Scarthe  had  slept 
soundly  throughout  the  whole  night — little  suspecting  the  series  of 
incidents  that  were  transpiring,  some  scarce  a  score  of  yards  from 
his  couch,  and  all,  within  a  mile's  circuit  of  the  mansion. 

Even  after  awakening,  he  was  not  informed  of  the  various  love  in- 
terviews, hairbreadth  'scapes,  and  captures,  that,  during  the  after- 
hours  of  that  eventful  night,  had  been  following  each  other  in  such 
quick  succession. 

The  whole  affiur  had  been  managed  so  silently  that  beyond  the  8i:i 
men  comprising  the  guard,  with  the  corporal  himself,  not  another 
cuirassier  knew  what  had  happened. 

Withers  had  taken  care  that  the  tongues  of  his  comrades  should 
be  tied — a  purpose  he  might  not  have  succeeded  in  effecting,  but  for 
those  golden  pieces  which  the  lady  had  so  profusedly  poured  into  his 
palm,  and  of  which  he  was  now  compelled  to  make  a  generous,  though 
somewhat  reluctant  disbursement. 

The  result  was  that,  at  the  changing  of  the  guard,  the  prisoner 
was  handed  over  to  the  reliefs  bound  as  before ;  and  no  one  In  the 
troop  was  made  acquainted  with  the  facts,  either  of  his  escape  or  re- 
capture. The  new  guard  entered  upon  its  touVy  under  the  full  belief 
that  their  charge  had  spent  the  whole  of  the  night  within  the  precincts 
of  his  prison. 

Of  the  several  individuals  who  had  been  privy  to  his  escape,  there 
was  only  one  who  by  daybreak  still  remained  ignorant  that  he  had 
been  re-taken.  Marion  slumbered  tUl  the  morning,  unconscious  ol 
the  re-arrest  of  her  lover,  as  Scarthe  of  his  temporary  deliverance. 

OnpartmgwithliiiPil^had  gone  to  her  couch,  though  m%  dS- 


SaO  THB  B8CX>BT. 

The  noises  heard  without  had  made  her  uneasy;  and,  standing  by 
ft  window  on  the  stairway  she  had  listened. 

She  had  heard  voices  of  men,  a  woman's  as  well,  but  soon  aftei 
they  had  ceased. 

She  knew  it  must  be  some  of  the  guard,  and  the  woman's  voice  sh« 
could  guess  at;  but,  as  so  little  disturbance  had  been  made,  she  did 
not  suspect  that  it  was  an  alarm,  or  that  they  had  discovered  the  al>> 
sence  of  the  prisoner  from  his  place  of  confinement. 

She  listened  for  a  long  time. 

She  even  returned  to  the  verandah  door,  opened  it,  looked  out,  and 
listened  again. 

But  all  was  quiet,  outside  as  within ;  and  supposing  that  the  sol- 
diers had  returned  into  the  court-yard,  she  at  length  re-entered  her 
chamber,  and  sought  repose  on  her  couch. 

Her  prolonged  vigil,  and  its  happy  termination,  favored  sleep ;  and 
at  that  moment,  when  Henry  Holtspur  was  struggling  in  the  grasp  of 
the  cuirassier  guards,  Marion  Wade  was  dreaming  a  delightful  dream 
of  his  delivery — in  which  she  fancied  herself  enjoying  over  and  over 
again  that  ecstatic  interview  that  had  succeeded  it ! 

Her  slumber,  with  its  concomitant  dream,  was  protracted  fer  into 
the  hours  of  daylight. 

Long  as  they  had  continued,  both  were  destined  to  a  rude  inter- 
ruption. 

She  was  awakened  by  sounds  without,  betokening  the  presence  of 
men  under  the  window  of  bei  chamber. 

Horses,  too— as  could  be  told  by  the  stamping  of  hoo&  upon  the 
graveled  esplanade.  "" 

Several  distinct  voices  reached  her  ear — one  louder  than  the  rest 
~which  was  occasionally  raised  in  abrupt  accents  of  command; 
and  once  or  twice  in  a  tone  altogether  different — in  laughter  ! 

Whichever  way  uttered,  it  sounded  harsh  in  the  hearing  of  Marion 
W&de :  she  knew  it  was  Scarthe's. 

For  what  was  the  cuirassier  captain  abroad  at  bo  early  an  hour  ? 

Was  it  so  early  ? 

Her  arm  was  extended  frdm  under  the  coverlet,  white  as  the  coua* 
terpane  itself. 

Her  jeweled  watch  was  taken  up  from  the  tnpod  table  on  which  il 
Uy. 

Its  dial  was  consulted :  ten  of  the  clock ! 

At  the  same  mstant,  the  hour  was  proclauQe^  il  99l|or91P  0|<l9PPi 
Irow  ^  tpw«r  OTwtoppmg  the  wanalon. 


THE  ESCORT.  ^ 

It  was  not  to  assist  her  in  conjecturing  the  purpose  of  that 
matutinal  commotion,  that  Marion  had  so  eagerJy  glanced  to  the  'iial 
of  her  watch. 

After  the  events  of  the  night,  she  could  have  had  but  one  surmise ; 
that  Holtspur's  escape  had  been  discovered;  and  the  noises  outside 
were  made  by  those  preparing  to  go  off  in  pursuit  of  him. 

She  had  looked  at  her  watch,  to  ascertain  the  time  that  had  elapsr 
ed  since  Holtspur's  departure. 

She  was  gratified  at  perceiving  the  lateness  of  the  hour. 

But  why  did  Scarthe  appear  to  be  so  happy  ? 

Those  peals  of  laughter  were  inappropriate  to  the  occasion — ^pro- 
ceeding from  one  who  should  have  been  suffering  chagrin  ? 

At  the  thought,  Marion  sprang  from  her  couch,  and  gUded  toward* 
the  window. 

From  that  window,  but  the  morning  before,  she  had  witnessed  the 
most  painful  spectacle  of  her  life. 

Very  similar,  and  scarce  less  painful,  was  that  which  now  greeted 
her  glance :  Henry  Holtspur,  bound  upon  the  back  of  a  horse,  and 
encompassed  by  a  troop  of  cuirassiers ;  who,  in  full  armor,  were 
keeping  close  guard  upon  him  ! 

They  were  all  mounted,  with  accoutrements  and  valises  strapped 
to  their  saddles — as  if  ready  for  a  journey. 

Scarthe  himself  was  pacing  back  and  forth  upon  the  graveled 
walk;  but  in  a  costume  that  showed  he  had  no  intention  to  accom 
pany  the  party,  on  whatever  expedition  it  was  bent. 

Comet  Stubbs  was  to  be  its  leader. 

Mounted  upon  Holtspur's  steed,  he  was  at  that  moment  placing 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  troop,  preliminary  to  commencing  the 
march. 

Marion  had  scarce  time  to  take  in  the  details  of  this  tableau — - 
equally  unexpected  and  sad — ^when  a  bugle  brayed  out  the  signal, 
«  Forward." 

Its  notes  drowned  the  scream  that  escaped  from  her  quivering  lips, 
as  the  form  of  her  beloved  was  ruthlessly  borne  away  out  of  sight. 

Nearly  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  before  the  confusion  of  ideas — 
consequent  on  such  a  painful  scene — permitted  on  the  part  of  Marion 
Wade  a  return  to  anything  like  calm  reflection. 

Even  then  her  mind  was  still  wandering  amidst  a  maze  of  unavail- 
ing thoughts,  when  voices,  again  heard  below,  recalled  her  to  thi 
irindow. 


IW  THE  ESCORT. 

She  looked  out  as  before.  The  tableau  was  chaii^<ed  from  that  shi 
had  already  contemplated.  Only  two  indiTiduals  composed  it— 
Scarthe  and  a  stranger. 

The  latter  was  a  man  in  civilian  costume ;  but  of  a  certain  guis« 
that  betokened  him  to  be  in  the  service  of  the  king. 

He  was  on  horseback — his  horse  frothing,  smoking,  and  panting 
as  if  after  a  long  gallop  at  top  speed. 

Scarthe  was  standing  by  the  stirrup,  listening  to  some  communi- 
cation which  the  rider  appeared  to  impart,  in  a  haste  that  proclaimed 
its  importance. 

Despite  his  earnestness,  the  stranger  spoke  in  a  low  tone ;  but  his 
Toice  ascending  to  the  window  of  Marion's  chamber  was  sufficiently 
loud  for  her  to  catch  the  significant  words — 

"  Prisoner — rescue — Uxbridge ! " 

On  hearing  them,  Scarthe  was  seen  to  spring  back  from  the  side  of 
the  horseman,  with  as  much  alertness  as  if  the  latter  had  aimed  a 
blow  at  him. 

Next  moment,  and  without  even  staying  to  make  reply  to  the  com- 
munication which  the  messenger  had  made,  he  rushed  on  towards  the 
gate  of  the  courtyard,  loudly  vociferating,  "  To  horse — every  man  to 
horse!" 

With  that  promptitude  to  which  he  had  trained  his  troop,  tho 
cuirassiers  were  almost  instantly  in  their  saddles ;  and,  before  Marion 
Wade  could  recover  from  the  shock  of  this  new  surprise— -more  gra 
tifying  than  that  which  preceded  it — she  beheld  Scarthe  himself,  en- 
veloped in  his  steel  armor,  ride  forth  at  the  head  of  his  troop ;  and 
go  off  at  a  gallop  along  the  avenue  leading  out  towards  Uxbridge. 

**  A  rescue,  Uxbridge !  '*  were  the  words  that  continued  to  echo  in 
her  ears,  long  after  the  trampling  of  the  troopers*  horses  had  died 
away  upon  the  distant  road 

"  God  grant  it  may  be  true ! "  was  her  murmured  response  to  that 
echo. 

The  excited  suppliant  did  not  content  herself  with  this  simple 
fomralary  of  speech 

Nudely  kneeling  upon  the  floor,  her  white  arms  crossed  over  hex 
bosom,  she  breathed  forth  a  pra  fer,  a  fervent,  passionate  prayer 
invoking  the  protection  of  tl^^  Oo4  she  Ipv^  for  the  man  sbi 
•dored! 


THB  BESCUB. 


CHAPTER  U. 


IHB  BBBOUB. 


It  WM  •pproaching  the  hour  of  ten,  and  Uxbridge  was  in  the  full 
tide  of  actiye  life.  More  than  the  usual  number  of  people  appeared 
to  be  parading  its  streets ;  though  no  one  seemed  to  know  exactly 
why.  It  was  not  market-day ;  and  the  extra  passengers  sauntering 
along  the  footways,  and  standing  by  the  corners,  were  not  farmers. 

They  appeared  to  be  mostly  common  people,  of  the  class  of  la- 
borers, and  artisans.  They  were  not  in  holiday  dresses,  but  in 
their  ordinary  every-day  garb :  as  if  they  had  been  %t  work,  and  had 
abruptly  "  knocked  off  "  to  be  present  at  some  improvised  spectacle, 
<rf  which  they  had  just  received  notice. 

The  shoemaker  was  in  his  leathern  apron,  his  hands  sticky  with 
wax :  the  blacksmith  begrimed  and  sweating  as  if  fresh  from  the 
fiimace ;  the  miller's  man  under  a  thick  coating  of  flour-dust ;  and 
the  butcher  with  breeches  still  reeking,  as  if  recently  come  out  of 
the  slaughter  house. 

A  crowd  had  collected  in  front  of  the  Rose  and  Crown,  with  groups 
stretching  across  the  adjacent  causeway,  and  to  this  point  all  the  odd 
stragglers  from  the  upper  part  of  the  town  appeared  tending. 

Those  who  had  already  arrived  there  were  exhibiting  themselves 
in  a  jolly  humor.  The  tavern  tap  was  flowing  freely;  and  scores  of 
people  were  drinking  at  somebody's  expense ;  though  at  whose,  no- 
body seemed  either  to  know  or  care. 

A  tall,  dark-complexioned  man,  oddly  attired,  assisted  by  the 
potmen  of  the  establishment,  was  helping  the  crowd  to  huge  tankards 
of  strong  ale,  though  he  seemed  more  especially  attentive  to  a  score 
of  stout  fellows  of  various  crafts  and  callings,  several  of  whom  ap- 
peared to  1)0  acquainted  with  him,  and  were  familiarly  accosting  him 
by  his  name  of  "  Gregory." 

Another  individual,  still  taller  and  more  robust — as  also  older— 
was  assisting  "  Greg'ry  "  in  distributing  the  g-ood  cheer ;  while  the 
host  of  the  inn — equally  interested  in  the  quick  circulation  of  tha 
can — was  bustling  about  with  a  smile  of  encou»*%gement  to  all  custom 
irt  who  came  near  hun. 


]tl4  THS  SU80D2. 

It  might  have  been  noticed  that  the  eyes  of  the  fevelera  were^ 
from  time  to  time,  turned  towards  the  bridge — ^by  which  the  road 
leading  westward  was  carried  across  the  Cohie. 

There  was  nothing  particular  about  this  structure — a  great  eleva- 
ted arch,  supporting  a  narrow  causeway,  flanked  by  stone  wall8> 
which  extended  from  the  water's  edge  some  twenty  or  thirty  yards 
along  both  sides  of  the  road. 

The  walls  were  still  further  continued  towards  the  town  by  a 
wooden  paling,  which  separated  the  road  from  the  adjoining  mead- 
ows. 

These,  bordering  both  sides  of  the  river,  extended  away  towards 
the  south  west,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

Between  the  houses,  and  the  nearer  end  of  the  bridge,  intervened 
about  a  hundred  yards  of  the  highway,  which  lay  directly  under  the 
eyes  of  the  roistering  crowd;  but  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  the 
road  was  not  visible  from  the  inn^being  screened  by  the  mason-work 
of  the  parapet,  and  the  arched  elevation  of  the  causeway. 

Neither  on  the  road,  nor  the  bridge,  nor  in  the  meadows  below,  did 
there  appear  aught  that  should  have  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
idlest  loiterer ;  though  it  was  evident  from  the  glances  occasionally 
cast  westward  over  the  water,  that  some  object  worth  seeing  was  ex- 
pected to  show  itself  in  that  direction. 

The  expression  upon  the  countenances  of  most  was  that  of  mere 
cariosity;  but  there  were  eyes  among  the  crowd  that  betrayed  a 
deeper  interest — amounting  almost  to  anxiety. 

The  taU  man  in  odd  apparel,  with  the  bushy  black  whiskers, 
though  bandying  rough  jests  with  those  around  him,  and  affecting  to 
look  gay,  could  be  seen  at  intervals  casting  an  eager  look  towards 
the  bridge,  and  then  communicating  in  whispers  with  the  individual 
in  the  faded  velveteens — who  was  well  known  to  most  of  the  bystand- 
ers as  "  Old  Dick  Dancey,  the  deer-stealer." 

"What  be  ye  all  gathered  here  about?  '*  inquired  a  man  freshlj 
arrived  in  front  of  the  inn.    "  Anything  to  be  seen,  masters  ? " 

"  That  there  be,"  answered  one  of  those  thus  interrogated 
**  Wait  a  bit ,  an'  maybe  ye'U  see  something  worth  seein'." 

«  What  might  it  be  ?  " 

"Dragoniers — royal  soldiers  of  his  majesty  the  king.** 

"  Bah !  what's  there  in  that  to  get  up  such  a  row  tor  f  One  seet 
tjiem  now  every  day." 

"  Ay,  an*  once  a  day  too  often,"  added  a  third  speaker,  who  did 
aot  appear  to  be  amongst  the  most  loyal  of  his  majesty's  lieges. 


9^ 

"Ah  !  but  ye  don't  see  them  etery  day  as  ye  wi3  \.his  mornln'— 
takin*  a  prisoner  to  the  Tower — a  grand  gentleman  at  that ! " 
"A  prisoner!     Who?" 
A  name  was  pronounced,  or  rather  sobriquet :  for  it  was  by  ■ 

phrase  that  the  question  was  answered. 

"  7he  Black  Horsemarij**  replied  the  man  who  had  been  question- 
«d.     "  That's  the  prisoner  ye  shall  see,  master." 

The  announcement  might  have  caused  a  greater  commotion  among 
the  spectators,  but  that  most  of  those  present  had  already  learnt  the 
object  of  the  assemblage.  The  excitement  that  at  that  instant  Buo- 
ceeded  sprang  from  a  different  cause. 

A  man  who  had  climbed  up  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge — and 
who  had  been  standing  with  his  face  turned  westward — was  seen 
making  a  signal,  which  appeared  to  be  understood  by  most  of  those 
around  the  inn. 

At  the  same  instant,  a  crowd  of  boys,  who  had  been  sharing  his 
view  from  the  top  of  the  wall,  commenced  waving  their  caps  and 
crying  out,  "  The  horse  sogers — the  king's  kewresseers ! — ^they're 
comin',  they're  comin' ! " 

The  shouting  was  succeeded  by  a  profound  silence — the  silence  of 
expectation. 

Soon  after,  plumes  waving  over  steel  helmets,  then  the  helmets 
themselves,  then  glancing  gorgets  and  breastplates,  proclaimed  the 
approach  of  a  troop  of  cuirassiers. 

They  came  filing  between  the  walls  of  grey  masonwork — their 
helmets,  as  they  rose  up  one  after  another  over  the  arched  parapet, 
blazing  under  the  bright  sun,  and  dazzling  the  eyes  of  the  spectators. 

In  the  troop  there  were  exactly  a  dozen  horsemen,  riding  in  files 
of  two  each ;  but  the  cavalcade  counted  fourteen — its  leader  making 
the  thir/  eenth,  while  a  man,  not  clad  in  armor,  though  in  line  among 
the  rest,  completed  the  number. 

This  Xast  individual,  although  robed  in  rich  velvet,  and  with  all 
the  cast  of  a  cavalier,  was  attached  to  the  troop  in  a  peculiar 
manner. 

The  attitude  he  held  upon  his  horse,  with  hands  bound  behind  aia 
back,  and  ancles  strapped  to  the  girth  of  his  saddle,  told  that  he 
was  of  less  authority  than  the  humblest  private  in  the  rank. 

He  was  a  prisoner. 

He  was  not  unknown  to  the  people  composing  that  crowd*  kito  tht 
midst  of  which  his  escort  was  advancing. 


M*  THE  RE8C7fi. 

The  black  horseman  had  ridden  too  often  through  iie  streeti  df 
tJxbridge,  and  held  converse  with  its  inhabitants,  to  pass  them  in 
Buch  fashion,  without  eliciting  glances  of  recognition,  and  gestures  ol 
sympathy. 

He  was  no  longer  astride  his  own  noble  steed,  as  well  known  aa 
himself;  though  the  horse  was  there,  with  a  rider  upon  his  back  who 
but  ill  became  him. 

This  was  the  chief  of  the  escort,  Cornet  Stubbs,  who,  an  admirer 
of  horseflesh,  had  that  day  committed  an  act  of  quiet  confiscation. 

Holtspur  was  between  two  of  the  troopers,  about  three  or  four 
files  from  the  rear;  while  the  cornet — somewhat  conceited  in  the 
exercise  of  his  conspicuous  conmaand — rode  swaggeringly  at  the 
head. 

In  this  fashion,  the  glittering  cavalcade  crossed  the  causeway  of 
the  bridge,  and  advanced  among  the  crowd,  until  its  foremost  filed 
had  penetrated  to  a  point  directly  in  front  of  the  inn. 

Stubbs  had  been  scanning  the  countenances  of  the  people  as  ho 
rode  in  among  them. 

He  fancied  he  saw  faces  that  frowned  upon  him  ;  but  these  were 
few ;  and  on  the  whole,  the  assemblage  seemed  simply  hilarious  and 
cheerful. 

It  never  occurred  to  hun  that  there  could  be  any  intention  of  inter- 
rupting his  march. 

How  could  it  ? 

He  presumed  that,  as  soon  as  his  charger  penetrated  into  the  thick 
of  the  crowd,  the  individuals  comprising  it  would  spring  quickly  asido 
and  make  way  for  him  and  his  followers. 

It  was  with  some  surprise,  therefore,  that  on  getting  fairly  in  front 
of  the  inn,  he  found  the  passage  blocked  by  human  bodies — standing 
go  densely  across  the  street,  that  in  order  to  avoid  riding  over  them, 
he  was  compelled  to  bring  his  horse  to  a  halt. 

Just  at  that  instant,  a  shout  rose  up  around  him — apparently 
intended  as  a  cheer  of  congratulation  to  the  soldiers:  while  a  voice, 
louder  than  the  rest,  vociferated — "The  king!  the  king!  Down 
with,  disloyal  knaves  !     Death  to  all  traitors  I  " 

There  was  a  touch  of  irony  in  the  tones  ;  but  it  was  too  delicately 
drawn  for  the  dull  perception  of  Cornet  Stubbs  ;  and  he  interpreted 
the  speeches  in  their  loyal  and  literal  sense. 

"My  good  friends,"  he  giaciously  replied,  while  a  gratified  expres- 
iion  stole  over  his  stolid  features,  "glad  to  find  you  in  such  good 
ipirits.    Am,  by  Ged  *  " 


8^ 

**0b !  ire'r©  in  the  righ-  spirit,'*  rejoined  one.  "  Ye'll  see  by- And- 
by.  Come^  master  officer !  have  a  drink.  Let's  toast  the  king !  Y« 
ront  object  to  that,  I'm  sure  ? " 

" By  no  means,"  replied  Stubbs.  "By  no  means.  I  shou^  be 
most  happy  to  drink  with  you ;  but  you  see,  my  friends,  we're  on 
duty ;  and  must  not  be  detained— mustn't,  by  Ged  !  " 

"  We  won't  detain  ye  a  minnit,"  urged  the  first  speaker,  a  stalwart 
blacksmith,  as  hard  of  face  as  his  own  hammer.  "  We  won't,  by 
Ged !  "  added  he,  in  a  tone  which,  coupled  with  the  peculiar  form  of 
expression,  led  Stubbs  to  conceive  some  doubts  about  the  sincerity  of 
his  proffered  friendship. 

"  Look  alive  there,  lads !  **  continued  the  village  Vulcan.  "  Bring 
out  the  stingo,  landlord  ?  Some  of  yer  best  wine  for  the  officer ;  and 
yer  strongest  homebrew  for  his  brave  men.  Dang  it — the  day's  hot 
an'  dusty.  Ye  have  a  long  ride  atween  this  an'  Lunnun.  Ye'U  feel 
fresher,  arter  sluicin'  yer  throats  wi'  a  can  o*  our  Uxbridge  ale. 
Won't  ye,  masters  ?  " 

The  last  appeal  was  made  to  the  troopers ;  who,  without  making 
any  verbal  reply,  signified  by  nods  and  other  gestures,  that  they 
were  nothing  loath  to  accept  the  offer,  without  calling  in  question  the 
brusquerie  of  him  who  made  it. 

Almost  as  if  by  enchantment  a  number  of  men,  with  drinking- 
ressels  in  their  hands,  appeared  on  both  flanks  of  the  mounted  escort 
— each  holding  a  cup  or  can  temptingly  before  the  eyes  of  a  trooper. 

These  ready  waiters  were  not  the  regular  tapsters  of  the  establish- 
ment, but  men  of  other  and  different  crafts;  the  shoemakers  already 
spoken  of,  in  their  wax-smeared  aprons — the  millers  in  their  snow- 
white  jackets — the  blacksmiths  in  their  grimy  garments — and  the 
butchers  redolent  of  suet. 

Notwithstanding  the  8  ana  far  on  of  the  invitation ,  and  the  odd 
apparel  of  the  attendants ;  the  liquor  frothing  up  before  their  eyes, 
*nd  within  scenting  distance  of  their  nostrils,  was  too  much  for  the 
troopers  to  withstand. 

A  five  mile  ride  along  a  hot  and  dusty  road  had  brought  them  to 
that  condition  called  "drouthy;"  and,  under  such  circumstances,  it 
would  not  have  been  human  nature  to  have  denied  themselves  the 
Indulgence  of  a  drink,  thus  held,  as  it  were,  to  their  very  lips. 

It  would  not  have  been  Scarthe's  cuirassiers  to  have  done  so ;  andi 
without  waiting  the  word — either  of  permission  or  command— ^ach 
trooper  took  hold  of  the  can  nearest  to  his  hand ;  and,  raisii\g  it  to 
^  lips,  cried  out :  "  The  king !  *' 


aS8 

The  crowd  echoed  the  loyal  sentiment ;  while  the  improyised  Jip- 
bearers— as  if  still  further  to  testify  their  respect — took  hold  of  tht 
bridles  of  the  horses,  and  kept  them  quiet,  in  order  that  their  riders 
might  quaff  in  comfort,  and  without  spilling  the  precious  liquor. 

There  were  two  of  these  attendants,  however,  who  deviated  slightly 
from  the  fa>jhion  of  the  rest. 

They  were  those  who  waited  upon  the  two  troopers  that  on  each 
•ide  flanked  the  prisoner. 

Instead  of  contenting  themselves  with  holding  the  horses  at  rest, 
each  of  these  attendants  led  the  one  whose  bridle  he  had  grasped  a 
little  out  of  the  alignment  of  the  rank. 

It  was  done  silently,  and  as  if  without  design ;  though  the  moment 
after,  there  was  an  apparent  object — when  a  tall  man,  with  black 
whiskers  and  swarth  complexion,  passed  around  the  head  of  one  of 
the  horses,  and  holding  up  a  flagon,  invited  the  prisoner  to  drink. 

"  Ye*ve  no  objection  to  Mm  havin'  a  wet,  I  s*pose  ? "  said  this  man, 
addressing  himself  in  a  side  speech  to  the  soldiers  who  guarded  him. 
"Poor  gentleman !     He  looks  a  bit  thirstyish — doan't  he  ?  " 

"  You  may  give  him  a  drink,  or  two  of  them,  for  aught  I  care,'* 
said  the  soldier  more  immediately  interested  in  making  answer. 
**  But  you'd  better  not  let  the  officer  see  you." 
The  speaker  nodded  significantly  towards  Stubbs. 
"I'll  take  care  o'  that,"  said  Gregory  Garth;  for  it  was  ho  who 
held  up  the  flagon. 

"  Here,  master,"  he  continued,  gliding  close  up  to  the  prisoner. 
"  take  a  drap  o'  this  beer.  Tan't  a  quality  liquor,  I  know — such  as 
1 8 'pose  ye've  been  used  to ;  but  it  be  tidyish  stuff  for  all  that,  an'll 
do  ye  good.  Bend  downish  a  bit,  an'  I'll  hold  it  to  yer  lips.  Don't 
be  afeered  o'  fallin'  out  o'  yer  saddle.  I'll  put^  my  hand  ahind  to 
steady  ye.    So — now — that's  the  way." 

Gregory's  fingers,  as  he  continued  to  talk,  had  found  their  way 
round  to  the  croup  of  the  saddle,  and  rested  upon  the  wrists  of  tha 
prisoner,  where  they  were  tied  together. 

The  troopers  behind,  too  much  occupied  by  their  potations  and 
the  facetuB  of  the  attendants  who  administered  them,  saw  not  the 
little  bit  of  shining  steel,  that  in  the  habile  hands  of  the  ex-footpad 
was  fast  severing  the  cords  that  confined  Henry  Holtspur  to  his 
place. 

"  A  goodish  sort  o'  stuff,  ain*t  it,  master  ? "  asked  Gregory,  aloud, 
as  he  held  the  drinking-vessel  to  the  prisoner's  lips.  "  Then  adding, 
in  a  quick  muttered  tone,  "  Now,  Master  Henry !  yer  handM«r4i  fret 


tHE  EESOTJE.  825 

•Lay  hold  o'  the  reins ;  an*  wheel  round  to  the  right.  Stick  thia 
knife  into  the  brute :  an*  gallop  back  over  the  bridge,  as  if  the  devil 
war  arter  ye." 

"  It*s  no  use,  Gregory,"  hurriedly  answered  the  cavalier.  "  The 
horse  is  but  a  poor  hack.  They'd  overtake  me  before  I  could  make  a 
mils.  Ha !  "  exclaimed  he,  as  if  a  real  hope  had  suddenly  sprung  up. 
"Hubert !     I  did  not  think  of  him.     There  is  a  chance.    I'll  try  it." 

During  all  their  experience  in  the  Flanders  campaign,  the  cuiras- 
siers of  Captain  Scarthe  had  never  been  more  taken  by  surprise, 
than  when  their  prisoner  was  seen  clutching  the  reins  of  the  steed  he 
bestrode — with  a  quick  wrench  drawing  the  animal  out  of  the  rank 
— and,  as  if  a  spur  had  been  applied  to  every  square  inch  of  his 
skin,  they  saw  the  old  troop  horse  spring  past  them,  apparently 
transformed  into  a  fleet  courser  ! 

Their  surprise  was  so  great,  that  the  drinking-cups  instantly  drop- 
ped from  their  grasp ;  though  for  a  good  while,  not  one  of  them  was 
able  to  recover  his  reins — which  the  lubberly  attendants  had  in  the 
most  stupid  manner  hauled  over  the  heads  of  their  horses ! 

It  did  not  diminish  their  astonishment  to  see  the  escaping  prisoner 
pull  up  as  he  approached  the  bridge ;  raise  his  fingers  to  his  lips ;  and 
give  utterance  to  a  shriU  whistle,  that  came  pealing  back  upon  the 
ears  of  the  crowd. 

It  did  not  diminish  their  astonishment  to  hear  a  horse  neighing, 
ts  if  in  reply  to  that  strange  signal. 

On  the  contrary,  it  increased  it. 

Their  surprise  reached  its  climax  when  they  saw  that,  of  all  their 
number.  Cornet  Stubbs  was  the  only  one  who  had  the  presence  of 
mind — the  courage  and  command  of  himself  and  his  horse — to  start 
immediately  in  pursuit ! 

That  he  had  done  so  there  could  be  no  mistake. 

The  black  charger  went  sweeping  past  them  like  a  bolt  fired  from 
H  eolverin — close  following  upon  the  heels  of  the  fugitive,  with  Cornet 
Stubbs  seated  in  the  saddle,  apparently  urging  the  pursuit. 

AhiPl  for  Comet  Stubbs !  He  was  not  long  allowed  to  enjoy  an 
honor,  as  unexpected  as  unsought ;  no  longer  than  while  his  fiery 
steed  wu8  galloping  over  the  ground  towards  the  spot  where  the  troop 
horse  had  been  hauled  up. 

Ab  the  two  steeds  came  mto  contigmty,  Stubbs  became  sensible  of 
ft  strong  hand  clutching  him  by  the  gorget,  and  Jerking  him  out  ol 
hisstirrupB. 


m 

The  next  moment  ha  ;elt  a  shock,  as  if  he  had  been  hurled  heati!!/ 
to  the  earth. 

He  did,  by  Ged ! 

Although  all  this  passed  confusedly  before  his  mind,  the  spectator! 
iaw  every  movement  with  perfect  distinctness. 

They  saw  the  comet  lifted  out  of  his  saddle,  and  pitched  into  the 
middle  of  the  road. 

They  saw  the  cavalier,  who  had  accomplished  this  feat,  change 
horses  with  him  whom  he  had  unhorsed — without  setting  foot  to 
the  ground ;  and  amidst  the  wild  huzzas  that  greeted  the  achieve- 
ment, they  saw  the  black  horseman  once  more  firmly  seated  astridt 
his  own  steed,  and  galloping  triumphantly  away. 

The  cheer  was  an  utterance  of  the  most  enthusiastic  joy,  in  which 
every  individual  in  the  crowd  appeared  to  have  had  a  voice,  the  difl- 
com&ted  cuirassiers  excepted. 

It  was  the  true  English  "hurrah,"  springing  from  the  heart  of  • 
people  ever  ready  to  applaud  an  exploit  of  bold  and  dangeroofl 
daring. 

Why  was  it  not  protracted,  for  it  was  not  ? 

It  subsided  almost  on  the  instant  that  it  had  arisen,  ere  its  echoef 
had  ceased  reverberating  from  the  walls  of  the  adjacent  houses .' 

It  was  succeeded  by  a  silence  solemn  and  profound ;  and  then,  by 
a  murmuring  indicative  of  some  surprise,  sudden  as  that  which  had 
called  forth  the  shout,  but  of  a  less  pleasant  nature. 

No  one  asked  the  cause  of  that  silence;  though  all  were  inquiring 
the  cause  of  what  had  caused  it. 

The  astonishment  of  the  spectators  had  sprung  from  the  behavior 
of  the  black  horseman,  which  at  the  crisis  appeared  singular. 

Having  reached  the  central  point  of  the  bridge,  instead  of  continu- 
ing his  course,  he  was  seen  suddenly  to  rein  up,  and  with  s'lch 
violence,  as  to  bring  his  horse  back  upon  his  haunches,  till  his  sweep- 
ing tail  lay  scattered  over  the  causeway. 

The  movement  was  instantly  followed  by  another.  The  horse, 
having  gained  an  erect  attitude,  was  seen  to  head,  first  in  one  direc- 
tion, then  into  another — as  if  his  rider  was  still  undecided  which 
course  he  should  take. 

The  spectators  at  first  thought  it  was  some  fault  of  the  animal , 
that  he  had  baulked  at  some  obstacle  and  become  restive. 

In  a  few  seconds  they  were  undeceived ;  and  the  true  cause  to  thia 
Interruption  to  the  flight  of  the  furtive  became  apparent  to  all— 


SSI 

fai  the  wiTing  plumes  and  glittering  helmets  that    appealed  heyond 

rising  above  the  cope-stones  of  the  parapet. 

Another  troop  of  cuirassiers,  larger  than  the  first,  was  coming 
along  the  road  in  the  direction  of  the  bridge.  It  was  Scarthe  and 
his  squadron ! 

Already  had  the  foremost  files  reached  the  termination  of  the 
parapet  walls ;  and  were  advancing  at  a  trot  towards  the  centre  oi 
the  arch.  In  that  direction  Holtspur's  retreat  was  cut  oflf— as  com- 
pletely as  if  he  had  entered  within  a  cul  de  sac. 

He  saw  it,  and  turned  to  ride  back ;  but  by  this  time  the  troopers 
who  accompanied  Stubbs,  stirred  to  energetic  action  by  the  trick 
played  upon  them,  had  recovered  their  reins,  and  were  making  all 
haste  to  pursue  the  prisoner.  The  corporal  who  commanded  them 
— ^for  the  comet  still  lay  senseless  upon  the  road — had  succeeded  in 
getting  them  into  some  sort  of  a  forward  movement;  and  they  were 
now  advancing  in  all  haste  towards  the  bridge. 

For  a  moment  the  black  horseman  appeared  undecided  how  to  act. 
To  gallop  in  either  direction  was  to  rush  upon  certain  death,  or 
certain  capture.  On  each  side  was  a  troop  of  cuirassiers  with  drawn 
sabres,  and  carbines  ready  to  be  discharged :  while  the  space  between 
the  two  squadrons  was  shut  in — partly  by  the  parapet  wall  of  the 
bridge,  and  partly  by  the  palings  that  continued  them. 

For  a  man  unarmed,  however  well  mounted,  to  run  the  gatmtht, 
in  either  direction,  was  plainly  an  impossibility ;  and  would  only  have 
been  attempted  by  one  reckless  of  Ufe  and  determined  to  throw  it 
away. 

I  have  said  that  for  a  moment  Holtspur  appeared  irresolute.  The 
spectators  beheld  his  irresolution  with  hearts  throbbing  apprehen- 
sively. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment ;  and  then,  the  black  steed  was  seen 
iuddenly  to  turn  head  towards  the  town,  and  come  trotting  back 
over  the  bridge ! 

Some  believed  that  his  rider  had  repented  of  his  rashness  and 
Wtts  about  to  deliver  himself  up  to  the  guard  from  whom  he  had 
escajied.  Others  were  under  the  impression  that  he  intended  to  run 
the  gauntlet  ;  and  was  choosing  the  weaker  party  through  which  to 
make  the  attempt. 

Neither  conjecture  was  the  correct  one :  as  was  proved  the  instant 
after — when  Holtspur  suddenly  setting  his  horse  transverse  t« 
the  direction  of  the  causeway,  and  giving  the  noble  animal  a  simul 


taneous  signal  by  voice,  hand,  and  heel,  sprang  him  ^vc:  the  palingf 
into  the  meadow  below  ! 

The  taunting  cry  shouted  back,  as  he  galloped  off  over  the  green 
Bward — a  cry  that  more  than  once  had  tortured  the  ears  of  pu^  suing 
Indians — ^was  heard  above  the  vociferous  huzza  that  greeted  tiis 
escape  from  Scarthe  and  his  discomfited  followers. 

The  shots  fired  after  him  had  no  effect.  In  those  days  a  marks- 
man was  a  character  almost  unknown ;  and  the  bullet  of  a  carbine 
was  scarce  more  dreaded  than  the  shaft  of  the  clumsy  cross-bow. 

The  pursuit,  continued  by  the  cuirassiers  along  the  verdant  banks  oi 
the  Colne,  was  more  for  the  purpose  of  saving  appearances,  than 
from  any  hope  of  overtaking  the  fugitive.  Before  his  pursuers  could 
clear  the  obstacle  that  separated  them  from  the  mead,  and  place 
themselves  upon  his  track,  the  "black  horseman'*  appeared  like  a 
dark  speck — rapidly  diminishing  in  size  as  he  glided  onward  towards 
the  wild  heaths  of  Iver 


OHAPTEB  HI. 


▲VTBB  THB   ABBEST. 


In  the  days  of  Charles  (the  Martjrr !)  a  State  prisonei  was  not 
fuch  a  rara  avis  as  at  present.  Laud  had  his  Ust,  and  Straiford  also 
— that  noble  but  truculent  tool  of  a  tyrant — who  ended  his  life  by 
becoming  himself  a  State  prisoner — the  most  distinguished  of  all. 

A  gentleman  denounced,  and  taken  to  the  Tower,  was  anything 
but  a  rare  event ;  and  created  scarce  riore  sensation  than  would  at 
the  present  day  the  capture  of  a  swell-mobsman. 

The  arrest  of  Henry  Holtspur  passed  over  as  a  common  occurrence 

His  rescue  and  escape  were  of  a  less  common  character ;  though 
even  these  served  only  for  a  nine  days'  wonder  in  the  mm<i  pf  tbf 
^eral  pubUo. 


There  rere  few  who  understood  exactly  hew  the  rescue  had  oeei 
bi ought  about;  or  how  that  crowd  of  "disloyal  knaves"— as  they 
Were  termed  by  the  king's  partisans — ^had  come  to  be  so  opportunely 
assembled  in  front  of  the  "  Rose  and  Crown." 

No  ono  seemed  to  know  whither  the  fugitive  had  betaken  himself 
—not  even  rumor. 

It  was  only  conjectured  that  he  had  sought  concealment— and 
found  it — in  that  grand  hiding  place  safe  as  the  dese       iself :  London. 

For  those  attainted  with  "treasonable  proclivi  "  towards  the 
t}rant  king,  the  great  city  was,  at  that  time,  a  ^  f  »«ylum  than 
any  other  part  of  his  kingdom. 

The  cuirassier  captain  had  done  all  in  his  po  to  hinder  the 
event  from  obtaining  general  publicity. 

He  had  not  reported  at  head-quarters,  either  arrest  or  what 
followed ;  and  he  had  been  equally  remiss  of  dut'  d  permitting  the 
circumstances  of  Holtspur's  rescue  to  pass  with       investigation. 

He  still  clung  to  the  hope  of  being  able  to  effect  his  recapture; 
and  to  that  end  he  employed,  though  in  a  clandestine  manner,  all  the 
influence  he  could  bring  to  his  aid. 

He  dispatched  secret  agents  into  different  parts  of  the  country ;  and 
no  communication,  not  even  a  letter,  could  enter  the  mansion  of  Sir 
Marmaduke  Wade,  without  Captain  Scarthe  knowing  the  nature  of 
its  contents. 

During  this  period,  his  position  in  the  quarters  ho  occupied,  may 
be  regarded  as  somewhat  anomalous. 

A  certain  intimacy  had  become  established  between  him  and  the 
femily  of  his  host.  How  far  it  was  friendly,  on  either  side,  was  a 
question. 

A  stranger  oi  superficial  observer,  might  have  fancied  it  so — on 
Us*  part  of  Scarthe  even  cordial.  Ever  since  the  firs^  day  of  his 
residence  under  the  roof  of  Sir  Marmaduke,  he  had  heir  Is  troopers 
in  strict  subordination;  so  strict  as  to  have  given  these  orthies  no 
slight  offense. 

But  Captain  Scarthe  was  a  commander  not  to  be  triil  rith ;  and 
his  followers  knew  it. 

For  every  Uttle  incident  of  trouble  or  annoyance,  occi  ag  to  the 
kimates  of  the  mansion,  ample  apologies  were  rendered ;  Ml  might 
have  been  imag.ned,  that  the  king's  cuirassiers  had  been  s  ito  Bui 
strode  as  a  guara  of  honor  to  attend  upon  its  owner,  rati  than  t| 
f*  Wik^ "  t9  lir^  fti  his  expense  * 


These  delicate  attentions  to  Sir  Marmaduke  sprang  not  firom  %nj 
motive  of  chivalry  or  kindness;  they  were  simply  designed  for  th« 
securing  of  his  daughter.  Scarthe  wanted  her  heart  as  well  as  her 
^land.  The  former,  because  he  loved  her,  with  all  the  fierce  passion 
of  a  soul  highly  gifted,  though  ill-guided ;  the  latter,  because  he 
coveted  her  fortune :  for  Marion  Wade,  in  addition  to  her  transcend* 
ant  charms,  was  heiress  to  a  noble  domain. 

She  wa.s  endowed  second  to  none  in  the  shire ;  for  a  separate  pr<> 
perty  v?as  hers  independent  of  the  estate  of  Bulstrode. 

Scarthe  knew  it;  and  for  this  reason  desired  to  have  her  hand 
along  with  her  heart. 

Failing  to  win  the  latter,  he  might  still  hope  to  obtain  the  former; 
which,  with  the  fortune  that  accompanied  it,  would  go  far  towarda 
consoling  his  disappointed  vanity. 

Whether  loving  him  or  not,  he  was  determined  Marion  Wade 
should  be  his  wife ;  and  if  fair  means  should  not  serve  for  the  execu- 
ticm  of  his  project,  he  would  not  scruple  to  make  use  of  the  contrary. 

He  Was  ready  to  avail  himself  of  that  terrible  secret  of  which  he 
had  become  surreptitiously  possessed. 

The  life  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  lay  upon  his  lips.  The  knight 
was,  at  that  moment,  as  much  in  his  power  as  if  standing  in  the 
presence  of  the  Star  Chamber,  with  a  score  of  witnesses  to  swear  to 
his  treason. 

It  needed  but  a  word  from  Scai'>he  to  place  him  in  that  dread 
presence ;  and  the  latter  knew  it.  A  isign  to  his  followers,  and  his 
host  might  have  been  transformed  into  his  prisoner ! 

He  had  not  much  fear  that  he  would  ever  be  called  upon  to  carry 
matters  to  such  an  ill-starred  extreme.  He  had  too  grand  a  reliance 
upon  his  own  irresistibility  with  the  sex.  The  man,  whom  he  had 
originally  believed  to  be  his  rival,  now  out  of  Marion's  sight,  appeared 
to  be  also  out  of  her  mind;  and,  during  his  absence,  Scarthe  had 
been  every  day  becoming  more  convinced — his  wish  being  father  to 
the  thought — ^that  the  relationship  between  Marion  and  Holtspur  had 
not  been  of  an  amatory  character. 

The  bestowal  of  the  glove  might  have  been  a  mere  complimentary 
favor,  for  some  service  rendered .''  Such  gifts  were  not  uncommon : 
and  tokens  worn  in  hats  or  helmets  were  not  always  emblematic  of  the 
tender  passion.  The  short  acquaintanceship  that  had  existet/ 
between  them — ^for  Scarthe  had  taken  pains  to  inform  himself  on 
this  head— gave  some  color  to  his  conjectiyr*^  |^  l^asti  it  wm 
pleftsant  for  hhn  to  thii:ik  so. 


830 

Women,  in  those  days,  were  the  m^st  potent  politicians.  It  wif 
^  woman  who  had  hrought  on  the  war  with  Spain— another  who  had 
caused  the  interference  in  Flanders — a  woman  who  had  led  to  our 
artificial  alliance  with  France— a  woman  who,  then  as  now,  ruled 
England ! 

Marion  Wade  was  a  woman— just  such  a  one  as  might  be  sup- 
posed to  wield  the  destinies  of  a  nation.  Her  political  sentiments 
were  no  secret  to  the  royalist  officer.  His  own  creed,  and  its  parti- 
sans, were  often  the  victims  of  her  satirical  sallies ;  and  he  could  not 
doubt  of  her  republican  inclinings. 

It  might  be  only  that  sort  of  sympathy  that  existed  between  hef 
ftnd  Holtspur? 

Had  he  been  an  eye-witness  to  her  behavior — ^throughout  that 
eventful  day  on  which  the  conspirator  had  made  his  escape,  he  might 
have  found  it  more  difficult  to  reconcile  himself  to  this  pleasant 
belief. 

Her  sad  countenance,  as,  looking  from  the  lattice,  she  onoe  mora 
beheld  her  lover  in  the  power  of  his  enemies — once  more  in  vile  bonds 
— ^might  have  proved,  to  the  most  uninterested  observer,  the  ezist- 
once  of  a  care  which  love  alone  could  create. 

Could  he  have  seen  her  during  the  interval  which  transpired— 
between  the  time  when  the  prisoner  was  borne  oflf  towards  his  peril- 
ous prison,  and  the  return  of  the  mounted  messenger  who  told  of 
his  escape — he  might  have  been  convinced  of  an  anxiety,  which  love 
alone  can  feel 

With  what  unspeakable  Joy  had  Marion  listened  to  this  last 
announcement !  Perhaps  it  repaid  her  for  the  moments  of  misery 
■he  had  been  silently  enduring. 

Deep  as  had  been  the  chagrin,  consequent  on  that  event,  Scarthe 
bad  found  some  consolation  in  the  thought,  that,  henceforth,  he  should 
have  the  field  to  himself. 

He  would  take  care  that  his  rival  should  not  again  cross  the  thresh- 
old of  Sir  Marmaduke*s  mansion ;  nor  in  any  way  obtain  access  to 
his  daughter's  presence  till  he  had  settled  the  question  of  his  own 
acceptance  or  rejection. 

During  all  this  while.  Sir  Marmaduke  and  his  people,  in  their 
behavior  towards  their  uninvited  guests,  appeared  civil  enough. 

Though  one  closely  acquainted  with  the  relationship — or  narrowly 
scrutinizing  the  intercourse  between  them — could  not  have  fiuled  it 
paroeive  that  this  civility  was  less  free  than  forced. 


8M 

That  it  was  so — or  rather  that  a  friendship  existed  eren  mappetf- 

ance — ^needs  but  Uttle  explanation. 

Sir  Marmaduke's  conduct  was  ruled  by  something  more  than  i 
vague  apprehension  of  danger.  The  arrest  of  his  fellow-conspirator 
was  significant ;  and  it  was  not  difficult  to  draw  from  that  circum- 
stance a  host  of  uncomfortable  conclusions. 

The  course  he  was  pursuing  towards  Scarthe,  was  not  only  opposed 
to  his  inclination,  but  exceedingly  irksome  to  him. 

There  were  times  when  he  was  almost  tempted  to  throw  off  tht 
mask ;  and  brave  the  worst  that  might  come  of  it. 

But  prudence  suggested  endurance — ^backed  by  the  beUef  that,  ere 
long,  things  might  take  a  more  favorable  turn. 

The  king  had  been  compelled  to  issue  a  writ — not  for  the  election 
of  a  new  parUament,  but  for  the  re-asserabling  of  the  old  one. 

In  that  centred  the  hopes  and  expectations  of  the  party,  of  which 
Sir  Marmaduke  was  now  a  declared  member. 

Marion's  politeness  to  Scarthe  was  equally  dashed  with  distrust. 

It  had  no  other  foundation  than  her  affection  for  her  father. 

She  loved  the  latter,  with  even  more  than  filial  fondness :  for  she 
was  old  enough,  and  possessed  of  sufficient  intelligence,  to  under- 
stand the  intrinsic  nobility  of  his  character. 

She  was  not  without  apprehension  that  some  danger  overshadowed 
him;  though  she  knew  not  exactly  what. 

Sir  Marmaduke  had  not  made  known  to  her  the  secret  that  would 
have  explained  it. 

He  had  forborne  doing  so,  under  the  plea  of  causing  her  unneces- 
sary anxiety ;  and  had  simply  requested  her  to  treat  the  unwelcome 
mtruders  with  a  fair  show  of  respect. 

The  hint  had  been  enough ;  and  Marion,  subduing  her  haughty 
spirit,  yielded^  faithful  obedience  to  it. 

Scarthe  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  any  slights  received  from  the 
daughter  of  his  host. 

On  the  contrary,  her  behavior  towards  him  appeared  so  friendly, 
that  there  were  times  when  he  drew  deductions  from  it,  suflSciently 
flattering  to  himself 

Thus  tranquilly  did  affairs  progress  during  the  first  few  weeks  ol 
Scarthe's  sojourn  at  Bulstrode — when  an  event  was  announced,  that 
was  destined  to  cause  an  exciting  change  in  the  situation. 

It  was  9kpte  champttrBy  to  be  given  by  Sir  Frederick  DayreU,  Lord 
of  the  manor  of  Fulmere — at  which  a  grand  flight  of  faloons  was  tf 
part  of  th»  eatertainnient. 


GOING  A   HAWKING.  ^ 

The  elite  of  the  county  was  to  be  present,  including  Sir  Jlannii- 
duke  Wade  and  his  family,  and  along  with  them  bis  military  guest* 
..-Captain  Scarthe  and  Cornet  Stubbs. 


CHAPTER  Lin. 


ooiNa  A  HAwcnrow 


The  beautiful  park  of  Bulstrode  was  radiant  with  the  earliest  nju 
of  the  sun. 

The  dew  still  glittered  upon  the  grass ;  and  the  massive  chestnuts 
threw  elongated  shadows  far  down  the  sloping  declivities. 

The  stag,  that  had  been  slumbering  undisturbed  during  the  night, 
springing  from  his  soft  couch  of  moss,  strode  forth  to  make  his 
morning  meal  upon  the  tempting  sward. 

The  birds  had  already  chanted  their  orison  to  the  opening  day ; 
*nd,  forsaking  their  several  perches,  were  fluttering  merrily  from 
tree  to  tree.  ^_ 

All  nature  was  awake. 

Though  the  hour  was  an  early  one,  the  inmates  of  the  mansion 
seemed  not  to  be  asleep. 

Half  a  dozen  saddled  horses,  under  the  conduct  of  as  many  grooms, 
had  been  led  forth  from  the  court-yard ;  and  were  standing  in  front 
of  the  house,  held  in  hand,  as  if  awaiting  their  riders. 

Two  were  caparisoned  differently  from  the  rest. 

By  the  peculiar  configuration  of  their  saddles,  it  was  evident  they 
were  intended  to  be  mounted  by  ladies. 

In  addition  to  the  grooms  in  charge  of  the  horses  there  wer«  other 
attendants  standing  or  moving  about. 

There  were  falconers,  with  blinded  hawks  borne  upon  their  wrists 
and  shoulders ;  and  finders,  with  dogs  held  ip  le<^h — Mch  cl«d  in 
the  costume  of  his  cr^. 


538  QOINO  A  HAWUNO. 

In  the  boudoir  of  Marion  Wade  were  two  beautifbl 

Marion  herself  was  one;  Lora  Lovelace  the  other. 

The  high-crowned  beaver  hats ;  the  close-fitting  habits  of  greet 
velvet ;  the  gauntlets  upon  their  hands ;  and  the  whips  in  them,  pro- 
claimed the  two  ladies  to  be  those  for  whom  the  side-^saddle  horsei 
had  been  caparisoned. 

Both  had  given  the  finishing  touch  to  their  toilettes,  before  for* 
Baking  their  separate  chambers. 

Thej  had  met  in  Marion's  sitting-room — there  to  hold  a  moment'i 
converse,  and  be  ready  when  summoned  to  the  saddle. 

**  Walter  promises  we'll  have  fine  sport,"  said  the  little  Lora,  trip- 
ping across  the  chamber,  hght  as  a  fawn,  and  gay  as  a  lark.  "  He 
says  the  mere  has  not  been  disturbed  for  long — ever  so  long — and 
there  have  been  several  broods  of  herons  this  season — ^besides  sedge- 
hens,  snipe,  and  woodcock.  We  shall  find  game  for  gos-hawks, 
kestrels,  jer-(alcons,  merlins,  and  every  sort.  Won't  it  be  de- 
lightful?" 

"  Pleasant  enough,  I  dare  say — ^for  those  who  can  ei\}ojf  H." 

"  What,  Marion !  and  will  not  you — ^you,  so  fond  of  falconry,  •■ 
often  to  go  hawking  alone  ? " 

"  Ah,  Lora,  this  sport,  like  many  others,  may  be  pleasanter  alone, 
than  in  company — that  is,  company  one  don't  care  for." 

**  Dear  me,  cousin,  you'd  make  believe  that  there  isn't  one  among 
the  grand  people  we're  going  to  meet  to-day  worth  caring  for  ?  ** 

**  Not  one,  of  my  knowing." 

"  What,  not  our  very  gallant  guest,  who  is  to  be  our  escort — not 
Captam  Scarthe  ? " 

« I  should  have  expected  you  to  say  Comet  Stubbs,  instead.*' 

**  Ha,  ha,  ha !  No,  no !  He's  too  stupia  to  be  a  pleasant  compan- 
ion for  me." 

'*  And  Captain  Scarthe  is  just  the  opposite  to  be  a  pleasant  com- 
panion  for  me.  In  truth,  of  the  two  I  like  Stubbs  best,  spite  of  hit 
vulgar  patronymic." 

"Tou  are  jesting,  Marion?  Stubbs,  Stubbs,  Comet  Stubbs! 
How  would  it  sound  as  Colonel  Stubbs  ?  Not  a  whit  better.  No : 
not  if  he  were  General  Stubbs.  Mistress  Stubbs  ?  I  would  not  h% 
sailed  so  for  the  world !    Lady  Stubbs  ?    No,  not  for  a  coronet !  " 

"  Between  Stubbs,  and  Scarthe,  I  see  not  much  to  choose.** 

*(  Marion,  yon  mistake.  There's  a  warlike  sound  aboqt  Soartbi^ 
I  qoqld  hpftg"e  a  man  of  that  name  to  be  a  hero'* 


OOtNG   A    iTAAVKlKd.  ^^ 

••  And  f  could  imagine  a  man  of  that  name  to  be  a  poltroDn— . 
t  do." 

"What,  not  our  Captain  Scarthe?  Why,  eveiybody  calls  him  • 
most  accomplished  cavalier.  Certes,  he  appears  so.  A  little  rude 
at  first,  I  acknowledge ;  but  since  then,  who  could  have  acted  more 
cavalierly  ?  And  to  you,  cousin,  surely  he  has  been  sufSciently 
attentive,  to  have  won  your  profound  esteem  ?  " 

"Say  rather  my  profound  detestation.  Then  you  would  come 
nearer  speaking  the  truth :  he  has  won  that." 

"  You  don't  show  it,  I*m  sure.  I've  seen  you  and  Captain  Scarthe 
very  happy  together,  very  happy  indeed,  if  one  may  judge  from  ap- 
pearances." 

"  Wheels  within  wheels,  coz.  A  smiling  cheek  don't  always  prove 
a  contented  heart ;  nor  is  a  smooth  tongue  the  truest  indication  oJ 
courtesy.  You  have  seen  me  polite  to  Captain  Scarthe,  nothing 
more ;  and  for  that  I  have  my  reasons." 

"  Reasons  ! " 

"  Yes,  good  reasons,  dear  Lora.  But  for  them  I  shouldn't  go 
hawking  to-day,  least  of  all,  with  him  as  my  companion.  Captain 
Scarthe  may  be  a  hero  in  your  eyes,  my  gay  cousin ;  but  he  is  not 
the  one  that's  enthroned  within  my  heart;  and  you  know  that." 

"  I  do,  I  do,  dear  Marion.  I  was  only  jesting.  I  know  Captain 
Scarthe  is  not  your  hero;  andean  tell  who  is.  His  name  begins 
with  Henry,  and  ends  with  Holtspur." 

"  Ah,  there  you  have  named  a  true  hero !  But  hark  you,  my  little 
parrot!  Don't  be  prattling  these  confidences.  If  you  do,  I'll 
tell  Walter  how  much  you  admire  Captain  Scarthe,  or  Cornet  Stubbs. 
Of  which  do  you  wish  him  to  be  jealous  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Marion,  not  a  word  to  Walter  about  Stubbs.  Do  you 
know,  I  believe  that  he's  a  little  jealous  of  him  already.  He  don't 
like  his  attentions  to  me,  not  a  bit,  Walter  don't.  I'm  sure  neither 
do  I ;  but  I  can't  help  them,  you  know,  so  long  as  we  must  meet 
three  or  four  times  a  day.  I  think  the  refusal  I  gave  might  have 
been  sufficient.  It  was  flat  enough.  But  it  hasn't ;  and  would  you 
believe  it,  he  still  continues  his  attentions,  as  if  nothing  had  happen- 
ed between  us  ?  Pray  don't  make  Walter  worse ;  else  there  might 
be  a  fight  between  them ;  and  then " 

"The  valiant  cornet  might  crack  Walter's  crown?" 

"  No,  that  he  couldn't ;  though  he  is  bigger  than  WaHer  Hel 
■ot  braifer,  I'm  sure.    That  he  i^%  the  ugly  impertinent." 


m 

**  What !  has  he  been  impertinent  to  you  t  ** 

"  Not  exactly  that ;  but  he  don't  seem  to  know  much  abciit  potiti 
aess.    How  different  with  Captain  Scarthe.    He  is  polite." 

"I  suppose — after  a  fashion." 

"  Dorothy  Dayrell  thinks  him  perfection.  I*m  sure  that  girl's  in 
love  with  him.  Why  is  she  always  riding  up  to  Bulstrode,  if  it  isn't 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  him  ?  I'm  sure,  it's  neither  of  ua 
she  comes  to  visit.** 

"She*8  quite  welcome  to  come — ^if  it  be  for  the  purpose  you 
suppose.** 

"Ay !  and  it*s  for  nothing  else  than  to  get  into  his  company,  that 
she  gives  the  hawking  party  to-day.  She  is  a  dangerous,  designing 
creature — that's  what  she  is.** 

"  If  her  design  be  to  catch  Captain  Scarthe,  I  hope  she  may  suc- 
ceed in  it.    I*m  sure  I  shan't  be  the  one  to  stand  in  her  way.** 

"  Well !  **  rejoined  Lora,  "  I'm  determined  to  keep  my  eyes  on  her 
this  very  day ;  and  see  how  she  behaves.  Oh !  you  don't  know 
how  I  detest  that  girl ;  and  why,  do  you  think !  ** 

"Really,  I  cannot  tell.** 

"  Well !  it  is  because  I  know  that  she  is  your  enemy!  *• 

**I  never  gave  her  cause !  ** 

"I  know  that.'* 

"  Perhaps  you  know  why  it  is  so  ?  ** 

«Ido!** 

"Tell  me.*' 

"  Because  you  are  beautiful.** 

^'  If  that  be  her  reason,  she  si/>uld  be  jour  enemy  as  much  as 
mixie  ?  ** 

"  Oh,  no !  I  have  not  the  vanity  to  think  so.  My  beauty  is  only 
prettiness ;  while  yours — ah !  cousin  Marion,  you  are  beautiful  in 
my  eyes,  a  woman !     What  must  you  be  in  the  eyes  of  a  man  ?  ** 

"  You're  a  simpleton,  little  Lora.  You  are  much  prettier  than  I ; 
■cd  as  for  Dorothy  Dayrell — don't  every  one  call  her  the  belle  of  the 
county  ?    I've  heard  it  a  score  of  times.** 

"  And  so  have  I.  But  what  signifies  that  ?  Though  you*re  my 
senior,  Marion,  I  think  I  have  as  much  wisdom  as  you  in  matters  oi 
this  kind.  Besides  I'm  f^u\j  a  spectator,  and  can  judge  between  you. 
I  believe  that  the  belle  of  the  county,  and  the  belle  of  the  ball-room, 
are  never  the  most  beautiful  of  those  with  whom  th^y  are  compared- 
Tery  often  such  reputation  is  obtained,  not  from  beauty,  but  behaT* 
ior ;  ftnd  from  behavior  not  always  the  best. 


•*  Go  on  in  that  way,  Lora,  and  we  shall  esteem  you  as  the  Soloii 
»f  our  sex." 

"Nay,  nay;  I  speak  only  sentiments  such  as  any  one  may  con- 
ceive. You  and  Dorothy  Dayrell  are  just  the  two  to  illustrate  them. 
While  everybody  calls  her  the  belle  of  the  county,  everybody  thinka 
you  to  be  so.  Indeed  cousin !  you  are  truly  beautiful !  So  beauti- 
ful that  even  the  peasant  children  of  the  parish  gaze  upon  yc  a  wiU 
wonder  and  dehght ! " 

"  Fulsome  flatterer .'  •  * 

"  In  troth  'tis  true.  And  that's  why  Dorothy  Dayrell  dislikes 
you.  She  wants  to  be  everything,  and  knows  that  you  take  her 
laurels  from  her.  On  the  day  of  the  fete,  she  did  everything  in  her 
power  to  captivate  the  man,  whom  she  pretended  to  disparage !  " 

«  Holtspur  ?  " 

"  Yes;  I  saw  her.  She  used  all  her  arts  to  attract  his  attention 
Ah,  Marion !  He  had  only  eyes  for  you.  And  now  that  he  is  gone, 
she's  set  herself  to  attract  Captain  Scarthe.  My  word !  won't  she 
try  to-day  ?  Sweet  coz  !  I  don't  want  you  to  act  the  hypocrite; 
but  can't  you — ^yes,  you  can — flirt  a  Uttle  with  Scarthe,  just  to  give 
her  a  chagrin  ?  Oh !  I  should  so  like  to  see  that  girl  sufler  what  sho 
deserves — a  chapter  of  humiliation !  " 

"  Foolish  child !   you  know  I  cannot  do  that !    It  is  not  ao 
cording  to  my  inclination;  and  just  now  less  than  ever  in  mj 
life." 

**  Only  for  an  hour,  to  punish  her !  ** 

"  How  should  you  hke  to  be  so  punished  yourself?  Suppose  som« 
one,  to-day,  were  to  flirt  with  Walter ;  or  he  with  some  one  ?  " 

"  Then  I'd  flirt  with  Stubbs  !  " 

"  Incorrigible  coquette !  I  think  you  like  Walter,  but  only  that 
Ah,  Lora !  you  know  not  what  it  is  to  love !  ** 

«  Don't  I,  though " 

"  Mistress  Marion ! "  cried  a  groom,  showing  his  face  at  the  door 
of  the  chamber,  "  Sir  Marm'duke  be  mounted.  They're  only  waiting 
for  you  and  Miss  Lora !  ** 

The  man,  after  delivering  his  message,  retired. 

"Lora,"  whispered  Marion,  as  they  issued  forth  from  the  room 
not  a  word  of  what  you  know ;  not  to  any  one  !  Promise  me  that ; 
and  I  may  give  you  the  satisfaction  you  have  asked  for." 

^:  ■    •      *      #      «       *      ♦      *      «      *      • 

During  the  conversation  between  the  cousins,  the  two  men,  whi 


were  .he  chief  subjects  of  it,  were  engaged  in  a  dialogae  ol  • 
what  Idndred  character. 

Soarthe's  sitting  apartment  was  the  scene;  though  neither  of  thf 
speakers  was  seated. 

Both  were  on  their  feet ;  and  in  costume  for  the  saddle — not  military 
—hut  merely  booted  and  spurred,  with  certain  equipments  covering 
their  dresses,  that  betokened  an  intention  of  going  forth  upon  the 
■port  of  falconry. 

A  splendid  jer-falcon — ^perched  upon  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  wear- 
ing his  hood — gave  further  evidence  of  this  intention ;  while  their 
gloves  drawn  on,  and  their  beavers  held  in  hand,  told  that,  like  the 
two  ladies,  they  were  only  awaiting  a  summons  to  sally  forth. 

Scarthe,  following  a  favorite  habit,  was  pacing  the  floor ;  while 
the  cornet  stood  watching  him  with  attention :  as  if  he  had  asked 
counsel  from  his  superior,  and  was  waiting  to  receive  it. 

"And  so,  my  gay  cornet,"  said  Scarthe,  addressing  the  flub- 
altem  in  his  usual  bantering  way,  "you're  determined  to  tiy  her 
again?  " 

"  Yes,  by  Ged !  that  is,  if  you  approve  of  it.** 

"  Oh !  as  to  my  approval,  it  don't  need  that.  It's  not  a  military 
matter.  Tou  may  propose  to  every  woman  in  the  county  for  aught 
I  care ;  twenty  times  to  each,  if  you  think  fit.*' 

"  But  I  want  your  advice,  captain.  Suppose  she  should  refuse  me 
a  second  time ! " 

"  Why,  that  would  be  awkward — especially  as  you're  sleeping  un- 
der the  same  roof,  and  eating  at  the  same  table  with  her.  The  more 
awkward,  since  you  say  you've  had  a  refusal  already." 

"  It  wasn't  a  regular  offer.  Besides,  I  was  too  quick  with  it. 
There's  been  a  good  deal  since  that  gives  me  hope.  She'll  think 
better  of  it  now — if  I  don't  mistake  her.** 

"  You  are  not  quite  sure  of  her,  then  ?  ** 

"  Well,  not  exactly.** 

"Don't  you  think  you  had  better  postpone  your  proposal,  tOl 
Tou're  more  certain  of  its  being  favorably  received  ? " 

"  But  there's  a  way  to  make  certain.  It's  about  that,  I  ^vant  yo6 
lo  advise  me.** 

"  Let  me  hear  your  '  way '  ?  " 

Well,  you  see,  captain,  though  the  girl's  only  the  niece  of  Sir  Mar- 
maduke,  she  loves  him  quite  as  much  his  own  daughter  does.  I 
don't  think  she  cares  about  that  stripling— fi&rther  than  act  cousia 


m 

What 's  between  them  ia  just  like  sister  and  brother :  since  she'i 
got  no  brother  of  her  own.  They've  been  brought  up  together— 
that's  aU." 

"  I  can't  help  admiring  your  perspicuity.  Comet  Stubbs." 

Perspicuity  was  just  that  quality  with  which  the  comet  was  not 
gifted ;  else  he  could  hardly  have  failed  to  notice  the  tone  of  irony,  in 
which  the  compliment  was  uttered. 

**  Oh  !  I  ain't  afraid  of  him,  at  all  events !  ** 

"  What,  then,  are  you  afraid  of?  Is  there  any  other  rival,  you 
think,  she's  likely  to  prefer  to  you?  Maybe  young  Dayrell,  or  that 
rather  good-looking  son  of  Sir  Roger  Hammersley  ?  Either  of  them, 
eh?" 

"  No,  nor  any  one  else." 

"  In  this  case,  why  are  you  in  doubt  ?  You  think  the  girl  likea 
you?" 

"  Sometimes  I  do,  and  sometimes  I  don't.  She  appears  to  change 
every  day.  But  I've  reason  to  believe  she  likes  me  now,  or  did 
yesterday." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?    Has  she  told  you  so  ?  ** 

**  No — not  in  words ;  but  I  think  so  from  her  way.  I  hinted  tc 
her,  that  I  intended  to  have  a  private  talk  with  her  upon  an  impor- 
tant matter,  when  we  should  be  out  on  this  hawking  party.  She 
appeared  delighted  at  the  idea — did,  by  Ged !  Besides  ;  she  was  in 
tiptop  spirits  all  the  evening  after ;  and  several  times  spoke  of  the 
pleasure  she  expected  from  to-morrow's  sport — that  is  to-day.  Now, 
what  could  that  mean,  unless " 

"  Unless  the  pleasure  she  anticipated  from  your  proposing  to  her. 
But  if  her  liking  be  only  on  alternate  days — as  you  say — and  she  was 
so  fond  of  you  yesterday,  she  might  be  in  the  contrary  mood  to-day  ? 
For  that  reason,  I*d  advise  you  to  suspend  proceedings  till  to* 
morrow." 

"But,  captain,  you  forget  that  I've  got  a  way  that  will  insure  her 
consent,  whether  it  be  to-day  or  to-morrow.** 

"  Disclose  it,  my  sagacious  cornet." 

"If  I  should  only  give  her  a  hint *' 

«« Of  what?" 

"  You  know  how  Sir  Marmaduke  is  fai  yonr  poww?" 

"I  do." 

**  "Well ;  if  I  only  were  to  slip  in  a  word  aboat  her  uncle  being  ii 
iftnger ;  not  only  of  his  liberty,  but  his  life—" 


S44 

"Stubbs !  **  cried  the  cuirassier  captain,  springing  forward  fleroely, 
md  shaking  his  clenched  fist  before  the  face  of  his  subaltern ;  "ii 
you  slip  in  a  word  about  that — or  dare  to  whisper  the  slightest  hint 
of  such  a  thing— your  own  life  will  be  in  greater  danger  than  that  ol 
Sir  Marmaduke  Wade.  I've  commanded  you  already  to  keep  your 
tongue  to  yourself  on  that  theme;  and  now,  more  emphatic&lly,  do  I 
repeat  the  command." 

"  Oh,  captain !  "  stammered  out  the  terrified  Stubbs,  in  an  apolo- 
getic whine ;  '*  if  you  don't  approve,  of  course  I  won't  say  a  word 
about  it.    I  won't>  by  Ged !  " 

"  No ;  you  had  better  not.  Win  the  consent  of  your  sweetheart 
after  your  own  way ;  but  don't  try  to  take  advantage  of  a  power 
that  does  not  appertain  to  you.  A  contingency  may  arise,  for  dis- 
closing  that  secret ;  but  it  is  for  me,  not  you,  to  judge  of  the  crisis.** 

The  further  protestations  of  the  scared  cornet  were  cut  short  by 
the  entrance  of  a  messenger ;  who  came  to  announce  that  the  party 
about  to  proceed  on  the  hawking  excursion,  was  ready  to  start,  and 
only  waited  the  company  of  Captain  Scarthe  and  Cornet  Stubbs. 

Five  minutes  later,  a  cavalcade  of  splendid  appearance  might  have 
been  seen  passing  through  Bulstrode  Park,  towards  one  of  the  side 
gates  that  opened  out  to  the  eastward. 

It  consisted  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  his  son,  daughter,  and  niece 
— ^the  two  oflBcers,  his  guests — with  a  large  following  of  grooms, 
felconers,  and  other  attendants ;  a  number  of  them  on  horseback, 
with  hawks  perched  upon  their  shoulders ;  a  still  larger  number  afoot 
— conducting  the  retrievers ;  others  chiens  de  chasse,  employed  in 
the  venerie  of  the  time. 

On  clearing  the  enclosure  of  the  park,  the  gay  procession  turned 
in  a  southerly  direction  towards  the  beautiful  lake  of  Fulmere ;  which, 
fed  by  the  Alder  "  burn,"  lay  embosomed  between  two  parallel  spun 
Af  the  beech-embowered  Chiltems. 


Uft 


CHAPTER  UV 


THE  SAWKUrd  PABTT 


The  lake  **  Fulmere  "  is  no  longer  in  existence,  tkom^  »  TilHig»"< 
•0  picturesque,  as  to  appear  the  creation  of  a  pain*^«r*rf  fvicy — still 
retains  the  name.  The  "mere  "  itself— yielding  to  *h»  •U-absorbing 
spirit  of  utilitarianism — has  disappeared  from  the  IjMadfioftpe,  drained 
off  by  the  brook  "  Alderburne/'  and  the  rivers  Oolne  9^  Thames,  te 
mingle  its  waters  with  the  ocean.  Its  bed  has  become  *  sa^adow,  th# 
residue  of  its  waters  being  retained  in  sundry  stagna^^t  pools  whicb 
serve  to  supply  the  neighboring  markets  with  cress ;  and  the  phar~ 
macopceia  of  the  village  apothecaries  with  "calamus  root.** 

Once  a  broad  sheet  of  crystal  water  covered  the  cres»-beds  c^. 
Fulmere,  a  sheet  with  sedgy  shores,  in  which  sheltered  the  bittern 
and  blue  heron ;  the  bald  coot,  the  water-hen,  and  the  gold-crested 
vtddgeon. 

It  was  so  on  that  day,  when  Dorothy  Dayrell,  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Frederick,  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Fulmere,  invited  her  friends  to  be 
present  at  a  grand  entertainment — including  falconry — the  spectacle 
to  be  exhibited  upon  the  shores  of  the  lake. 

Dorothy  Dayrell  was  something  more  than  pretty.  She  was  what 
might  be  termed  a  "  dashing  creature,"  a  httle  devilish,  it  is  true, 
but  this,  in  the  eyes  of  her  male  acquaintances,  only  rendered  her 
prettiness  more  piquant.  Following  the  fashion  of  her  father,  she  was 
of  the  true  Tory  type,  devotedly  attached  to  king  and  state,  and  blind- 
ly believing  in  that  theory — worthy  the  conception  of  a  community 
©f  apes —  the  "  right  divine." 

Silly  as  is  the  belief,  it  was  then  entertained,  as  now.  At  that 
time,  human  bipeds  of  both  sexes  were  just  as  parasitical,  as  they 
are  at  the  present  hour ;  and  as  loudly  proclaimed  their  ignoble 
longings  for  King  Stork,  or  King  Log.  Not,  however,  quite  so 
Inanimously. 

The  word  "  republic  **  was  beginning  to  be  heard,  issuing  from  the 
lips  of  great  statesmen,  and  true  patriots. 

It  was  beginning  to  find  an  echo  in  remote  villages,  and  cottage 
homeSj  throughout  all  England- 

15» 


Not  that  each  sentiments  had  ever  been  ipoken  m  the  village  d 
Fulmere. 

To  have  pronounced  them  there,  would  have  been  deemed  rank 
treason ;  and  the  rustic  given  utterance  to  them,  would  have  found 
himself  m  the  pillorj,  almost  before  the  speech  could  have  passed 
from  his  lips. 

Dorothy  hated  the  idea  of  a  republic;  as  small-souled  people  do 
now,  and  have  done  in  all  ages. 

We  regret  having  to  place  the  fair  Dayrell  *n  this  category 
but  we  must  succumb  to  the  requirements  of  truth ;  and  this  com- 
pels us  to  say  that  Mistress  Dorothy,  physically  pe/i^e,  was  moraUy 
Uttle-minded. 

Her  pretty  face,  however,  concealed  the  defects  of  her  selfish  soul ; 
and  aided  by  many  wiles  and  winning  ways,  rendered  her  sufficiently 
popular  in  that  large  social  circle,  of  which  she  was,  or  wished  to  Ife, 
both  the  star  and  the  centre. 

Some  proof  of  her  popularity  was  the  crowd  that  responded  to  her 
call,  and  was  present  at  her  hawking  party. 

Scores  of  people  of  "first  quality  "t— dames  of  high  degree,  and 
cavaliers  appropriate  to  such  companionship — collected  upon  the 
shores  of  Fulmere  Lake ;  cast  resplendent  shadows  upon  its  smooth 
surface ;  and  caused  its  enclosing  hills  to  resound  with  the  echoes  ol 
their  merry  voices. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  detail  the  various  incidents  of  the  day's 
sport :  how  the  party,  having  ifiet  at  an  appointed  place,  proceeded 
around  the  shores  of  the  lake ;  how  the  herons  rose  screaming  from 
the  sedge,  and  the  hawks  shot  like  winged  arrows  after  them ;  how 
the  owners  of  the  predatory  birds  bantered  one  another,  and  wagers 
"W  ere  laid  and  lost  by  betters  of  both  sexes ;  and  how — when  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  lake  had  been  accomplished,  and  the  adjacent  reedy 
marshes  quartered  by  the  spaniels,  until,  cleared  of  their  feathered 
game — the  gay  company  wended  their  way  to  the  summit  of  the 
adjoining  hill ;  and  there,  under  the  shadows  of  the  greenwood  tree, 
partook  of  an  al  fresco  banquet,  which  their  km'ghtly  entertainer 
bad  provided  f©r  them. 

Nor  need  we  describe  the  conversation,  varied  of  course,  always 
lively  under  such  circumstances;  dten  witty  after  the  wine  has 
flowed  freely. 

One  topic  alone  claims  our  attention,  as  it  did  thai  of  the 


THE  HAWKING  PABTT.  W? 

It  mm  introduced  by  Mistress  Dorothy  herself,  to  whom  of  coursi 
trerj  one  obsequiously  listened. 

"I  regret,"  said  this  charming  creature,  addressing  herself  to  her 
■plendid  surrounding,  "  that  I*ye  not  been  able  to  provide  you  with 
ft  more  spirited  entertainment.  After  that  we  witnessed  the  other 
day  in  Bulstrode  Park,  our  fete  will  appear  tame,  I  know.  Ah  !  ii 
We  only  had  the  black  horseman  here.  How  cruel  of  you.  Captain 
Scarthe,  to  have  depriyed  us  of  that  pleasure !  " 

"  Mistress  Dayrell,"  replied  the  oflBcer,  on  whom  the  speech  had 
made  anything  but  a  pleasing  impression,  "  I  regret  exceedingly  that 
in  the  performance  of  my  duty,  in  dealing  with  a  rebel,  I  should '* 

"No  apologies.  Captain  Scarthe,'*  interposed  Sir  Frederick,  com- 
ing to  the  rescue  of  the  embarassed  cuirassier.  "  We  all  know  that 
you  acted  as  becomes  a  loyal  servant  of  his  majesty.  It  would  be 
well  if  others,  in  these  doubtful  times,  would  display  a  like  energy.*' 
Here  Sir  Frederick  glanced  sarcastically  towards  his  neighbor  knight 
—between  whom  and  himself  there  was  not  the  most  cordial  friend- 
ship. "  The  only  regret  is  that  the  fellow,  whoever  he  may  be,  was 
permitted  to  escape ;  but,  I  dare  say,  he  will  be  soon  retaken,  and 
meet  with  his  deserts.'* 

"  And  what  would  you  deem  his  deserts,  Dayrell  ?  "  quietly  asked 
Sir  Marmaduke  Wade. 

"  The  block  !**  replied  the  fiery  Sir  Frederick,  who  had  been  partak- 
ing rather  freely  of  his  own  wine.  "  What  else  for  an  adventurer 
like  him,  who  conspii*e8  against  his  king  ?  I'd  chop  off  his  head  like 
m  cabbage." 

"  By  so  doing,"  rejoined  Sir  Marmaduke,  in  a  tone  of  satirical 
significancy,  "  you  would  only  cause  a  score  of  like  heads  to  sprout 
up  in  its  place." 

*«  Let  them  sprout  up.  We'll  serve  them  the  same  way.  We 
■hall  still  have  the  power  to  do  so — in  spite  of  this  parliament  ol 
traitors,  which  the  king  has  been  so  foolish  as  to  think  of  recalling 
around  him." 

"Oh,  dear  father,"  interrupted  the  pretty  Dorothy,  in  a  tone  of 
pseudo-sentimentality,  "  don't  talk  of  chopping  off  heads.  What  • 
pity  it  would  be  if  Captain  Scarthe 's  late  prisoner  were  to  lose  his ! 
I'm  so  glad  he  escaped  from  you,  Captain." 

"Why  is  this,  girl? "  asked  Sir  Frederick,  turning  rather  sharply 
upon  his  daughter.  "  Why  would  it  be  a  pity  ?  I've  heard  yo» 
this  very  morning  express  the  opposite  opinion ! " 

«  But  I  did  not  know  th^n— that— that — ^^ 


S48  THE  HAWKLNG  PABTY. 

*•  Know  what  ? "  interrogated  several  of  the  party,  who  uncompas* 
ed  the  fair  speaker. 

"  That  there  were  others  interested  in  the  fate  of  the  unfortunat* 
man.    Ah,  deeply  so !  " 

A  malicious  glance  towards  Marion  Wade  did  not  escape  the  at* 
tention  of  the  latter ;  and  it  was  also  noticed  by  Scarthe. 

"Others  interested  in  his  fate.  Who,  pray?"  demanded  Sir 
Frederick,  iooking  inquiringly  towards  his  daughter. 

"  His  wife,  for  one,"  replied  Dorothy,  laying  a  peculiar  empha&ai 
on  the  words. 

"  His  wife !  "  simultaneously  echoed  a  score  of  voices.  "  The 
black  horseman  a  Benedict !  Holtspur  married !  We  never  knew 
that." 

"  Nor  I,"  continued  the  pretty  imparter  of  the  startling  intelli- 
gence— "  not  till  an  hour  ago.  I've  just  heard  it  from  cousin  Way- 
land  here;  who  came  this  morning  from  court — where  it  seems 
Master  Holtspur  is  well  known  ;  though  not  by  the  name  he  has 
chosen  to  make  celebrated  among  us  rustics  in  Buckinghamshire.* 

"  'Tis  quite  true,"  said  a  youth  in  courtier  costume,  who  stood 
close  to  her  who  had  thus  appealed  to  him.  "  The  gentleman  my 
cousin  speaks  of  is  mai'ried.  I  thought  it  was  known  to  every- 
body." 

"  How  could  it,  dear  Wayland  ? "  asked  Dorothy,  with  an  air  ol 
charming  simplicity.  "  Master  Holtspur  was  not  known  to  any  one 
here — except,  I  believe,  to  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  and  his  family; 
and  if  I  mistake  not,  only  very  slightly  to  them." 

A  significant  curling  of  the  speaker's  pretty  nostril  accompanied 
this  final  remark — ^which  was  intended  as  an  interrogative. 

"  That  is  true,"  answered  Sir  Marmaduke.  "  My  acquaintanot 
with  the  gentleman  you  speak  of  is  but  slight.  I  was  not  aware  o 
his  being  a  married  man ;  but  what  has  that  to  do " 

"  Oh,  ladies  and  gentleman !  "  interrupted  the  freshly  arrived 
courtier,  "  perhaps  you  are  not  aware  of  the  real  name  of  this  cava- 
lier who  has  been  calling  himself  Holtspur.  He  has  been  of  some 
notoriety  at  court ;  though  that  was  before  my  time ;  and  I've  only 
beard  of  it  from  others.    There  was  a  scandal,  I  believe        " 

"Come,  come,  Wayland!"  cried  his  fair  cousin,  interrupting 
him.    "  No  scandals  here.    Keep  it,  whatever  it  be,  to  yourself" 

"  His  name,  his  name !  "  shouted  a  score  of  voices ;  while  twice  thai 
number  of  ears,  piqued  by  the  word  "scandal" — ^were  eagerly  hmnt 
to  listefi  to  the  threatened  disclosure. 


849 

Th«  ocmrtier  gave  utterance  to  a  name,  known  to  most  of  thecom- 
^ny ;  ind  which  ten  years  before  had  been  oftener  pronounced  ii 
connection  with  that  of  England's  queen. 

Only  in  whispers ;  it  is  true,  and  less  discreditable  to  Henry • 

than  Henrietta. 

The  announcement  produced  an  effect  upon  the  auditory  of  a  very 
peculiar  character. 

It  was  certainly  Aot  so  damaging  to  him  who  was  the  subject  of 
their  criticisms ;  for  in  the  minds  of  many  there  present,  the  man  of 
bonnes  fortunes  va»  a  character  to  be  envied  rather  than  despised ; 
and  the  fa^onto  page — whose  mysterious  disappearance  from  court, 
some  ten  y%arft  before,  had  given  rise  to  a  "  royal  scandal  "-—could 
not  be  otherwise  than  interesting. 

The  knowledge  that  Henry  Holtspur — the  black  horseman — the 

mysterious — ^the  unkown — was  identical  with  Henry ,  once  a 

queen's  page — the  recipient  of  royal  smiles — perhaps,  in  that  as- 
semblage gained  him  more  friends  than  enemies. 

Such  as  were  still  disposed  to  be  hostile  to  him,  could  no  longer 
avail  themselves  of  that  mode  of  r^^viling — still  so  customary  among 
the  "  elite  " — ^by  calUng  him  an  "  adventurer." 

This  had  he  been  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term,  an  adventurer,  but 
one  to  be  envied  by  his  enemies. 

Even  the  heart  of  the  dashing  Dorothy  became  suddenly  softened 
towards  him,  on  hearing  the  new  revelation  made  by  her  cousin 
Wayland. 

That  expression  of  sympathy  for  hun,  supposed  by  her  auditory 
to  have  been  ironical,  was  a  more  sincere  sentiment  than  usually  fell 
from  her  lips. 

The  scandal  was  not  discussed  among  Sir  Frederick's  guests,  at 
least  not  in  open  assembly. 

The  whisperings  of  side  groups  may  have  referred  to  it ;  but  it  was 
too  old  to  be  interesting,  even  to  the  most  industrious  dealers  in 
trim.  con.  gossip. 

The  general  conversation  became  changed  to  a  theme  more  appro- 
priate to  the  occasion ;  though  a  small  congenial  group,  who  had 
gathered  around  the  young  Wayland,  were  treated  to  some  furthe? 
details,  relating  to  the  matrimonial  affairs  of  the  patriot  conspirator. 

Of  these  not  much  knew  the  courtier ;  nor  indeed  any  one  el&t 
upon  the  ground. 

He  could  only  mform  his  audicory,  what  some  of  them  already 


m 


THE   HAWKING   PABTT. 


knew ;  that  Henry had  been  secretly  married  to  one  of  the  nobli 

ladies  of  Qiieen  Henrietta's  court,  that  the  marriage  ceremony  had 
been  folio  vred  by  an  affair  in  which  the  queen  herself  had  taken  an 
unusual  interest,  in  short,  by  a  separation  between  man  and  wife,  by 
'  £  loss  of  the  greater  part  of  the  young  husband's  fortune,  and 
i    lally  by  his  disappearance,  both  from  the  court  and  the  country. 

Among  other  adventurous  spirits  of  the  time,  he  had  emigrated  to 
t    e  colonies  of  Virginia. 

To  do  Master  Wayland  justice,  he  evinced  no  particular  hostility 
'  vrards  the  man,  whose  history  he  was  narrating ;  though,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  said  nothing  in  his  defense. 

It  was  not  his  province  to  make  known  the  nature  of  that  coi^u 
gal  quarrel ;  or  say  who  was  in  fault. 

In  truth,  the  stripUng  but  ill  understood  it. 

He  did  not  know  that  royal  jealousy  had  been  the  cause  of  thai 

sudden  separation  between  Henry and  his  bride-wife  i  and  that  it 

was  an  act  of  royal  revenge,  that  had  transformed  the  courtier  into 
a  colonist. 

The  subject,  after  a  time,  losing  interest,  was  permitted  to  drop^ 
the  conversation  changing  to  other  themes. 

There  was  one  whose  thoughts  could  not  be  distracted  from 
it. 

Need  I  say  it  was  Marion  Wade? 

Amidst  the  gay  company,  her  gaiety  was  gone. 

The  roses  upon  which  the  mid-day  sun  was  but  the  moment  before 
brightly  beaming,  had  forsaken  her  cheeks,  on  that  instant  when 
the  word  "  wife  "  fell  from  the  hps  of  Dorothy  DayreU. 

To  her  the  hawking  party  was  no  longer  a  party  of  pleasure. 

The  sociality  that  surrounded  her  was  only  irksome  and  affliei- 
ing. 

To  withdraw  from  it  had  been  her  first  thought. 

To  escape  o])servation  as  well;  for  she  knew  that  the  dir*  eload, 
that  had  settled  over  her  beart,  could  not  fail  to  be  reflected  in 
her  face. 

On  recovering  from  the  shock  caused  by  the  unexpected  announce- 
ment, she  had  turned  her  back  upon  the  company,  and  stolen  n 
lently  away. 

The  trees  standing  closely  around  the  spot,  with  the  undcirwood 
Itiii  in  foliage,  favored  her  withdrawal,  as  also  the  pecuhar  topi?  <M 
tonversation  which  at  the  moment  was  absorbing  the  sttenlioii  ql 


THK  HAWKDfG  PABTY.  S61 

She  had  not  stayed  to  listen  to  the  further  reyelations  mad«  hj  the 
eourtier  Wayland — the  one  word  spoken  by  his  cousin  had  been  the 
cue  for  her  silent  exit  from  the  circle  of  conversation. 

She  needed  no  confirmation  of  what  she  had  heard. 

A  vague  suspicion  already  conceived,  springing  out  of  the  ambi- 
guity of  some  stray  speeches  let  fell  by  Holtspur  himself— not  only 
at  their  first  interview,  but  while  arranging  terms  of  that  parting 
promise — had  laid  the  foundation  for  an  easy  faith  in  the  statemenl 
•f  Dorothy  Dayrell. 

Painful  as  was  the  conviction,  Marion  could  not  resist  it. 

She  thought  not  of  calling  it  in  question. 

Once  among  the  trees  she  glided  rapidly  on — knowing  not  whither; 
nor  caring;  so  long  as  her  steps  carried  her  far  from  the  companion- 
ship of  her  own  kind. 

After  wandering  awhile,  she  came  to  a  stop;  and  now,  for  the  first 
time,  did  her  countenance  betray,  in  all  its  palpable  reality,  the  bit- 
terness  that  was  burning  within  her. 

Her  heart  felt  as  if  parting  in  twain.  A  sigh — a  half-suppressed 
scream — escaped  from  her  bosom ;  and,  but  that  she  had  seized  upon 
a  sapling  to  support  herself,  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth. 

No  pen  could  paint  her  emotions  at  that  moment.  They  were  too 
painful  to  permit  of  speech.  Only  one  word  fell  from  her  lips — low- 
murmured  and  in  accents  of  extreme  sadness — the  black  word  "  Be- 
trayed. " 

Though  silent  in  speech,  her  thoughts  flowed  fast  and  freely. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  barrier  that  might  come  between  us  !  Mighi 
come !  Oh !  the  falsehood !  And  such  a  promise  as  I  have  given ! 
Despite  every  obstacle,  to  love  him  !  I  thought  not  of  this — ^how 
could  I  ?  No  promise  can  bridge  over  such  a  chasm.  I  may  not — I 
dare  not  keep  it.  'Tis  no  sin  to  break  it  now.  Mother  of  God !  give 
me  the  strength ! 

"  Ah !  'tis  easy  to  talk  of  breaking  it.  Merciful  Heaven !  tht 
power  has  passed  fi*om  me ! 

**  'Tis  smful  on  either  side.  Perjury  the  one,  a  worse  crime  tht 
other.  I  feel  powerless  to  choose  between  them.  Alas! — Alas! 
Despite  his  betrayal — I  love  him,  I  love  him ! 

"Ami  not  wronging  him?  Was  not  I  the  wooer — I,  Marion? 
Was  it  not  I  who  gave  the  first  sign — the  challenge — everything  ? 

**  What  meant  he  to  have  said  at  that  moment,  when  our  last  ib* 
tignksw  wa»  interrupt94  f    What  was  i^  be  was  about  to  deolur^-^ 


5W  THE   HAWKING   PAKTY. 

mdyat  hesitated  ?  Perhaps  he  intended  to  have  made  this  Tery  dis- 
closure— to  tell  me  all  ?  Oh,  I  could  have  forgiven  him ;  but  now  1 
may  not — I  dare  not " 

She  paused  as  if  conscious  how  idle  it  was,  to  give  thought  to  a  re- 
solve she  had  not  the  power  to  keep. 

"  Married !    Holtspur  married  !    Alas !  my  love  dream  is  ended 
Tis  only  changed  from  sweet  to  sad;  and  this  will  never  change  til. 
my  unhappy  heart  be  stilled  in  the  sleep  of  death ! " 

The  despairing  maiden  stood  with  her  white  fingers  still  clasped 
around  the  stem  of  the  sapling — her  eyes  bent  upon  the  ground  in 
vacant  gaze,  as  if  all  thought  had  forsaken  her. 

For  some  minutes  she  remained  in  this  attitude — motionless  a8 
the  tree  that  supported  her. 

The  soimd  of  an  approaching  footstep  failed  to  startle  her. 

She  heard,  without  heeding  it. 

Her  sorrow  had  rendered  her  insensible  even  to  shame.  She  cared 
little  now,  who  might  behold  her  emotion. 

The  footstep  was  too  light  to  be  mistaken  for  that  of  a  man. 

Marion  had  no  time  for  conjecture ;  for  almost  on  the  instant, 
she  heard  the  voice  of  her  cousin  Lora  calling  her  by  name. 

"  Marion !  where  are  you !     I  want  you,  cousin." 

"  Here,  Lora !  "  replied  the  latter,  in  a  feeble  voice,  at  the  same 
time  making  an  effort  to  appear  calm. 

"  Oh !  '*  exclaimed  the  pretty  blonde,  hurriedly  making  her  way 
through  the  underwood,  and  stopping  before  her  cousin  with  blush- 
ing cheeks  and  palpitating  bosom. 

"  Lord  a  merci,  coz ! — I've  got  such  a  story  to  tell  you.  What  do 
you  think  it  is  ?    Guess  ! " 

"  You  know  I*m  not  good  at  guessing,  Lora.  I  hope  you  haven't 
lost  your  favorite  merlin  ?  '* 

<*No — ^not  so  bad  as  that ;  though  I've  lost  something.'' 

«•  What  pray  1  '* 

"A  lover!" 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  Marion,  with  a  sad  emphasis.  Then,  making 
an  effort  to  conceal  her  emotion,  she  added  in  another  strain,  '*  I  hope 
Walter  hasn't  been  flirting  with  Dorothy  Dayrell?  ** 

"  Bother  Dorothy  Dayrell !  *' 

<<  Well — ^perhaps  with  one  you  might  have  more  reason  to  be  afrai4 
•f— Miss  Whmif5red  Wayland?" 

-«*  ^Qt  io  b»d  AS  thftt  ^eithe^.    Jt'i»  auother  JoTer  Tv©  log$  I  '* 


THE   HAWiONG  PA&TT.  3ft« 

•*  Oh !  you  confess  to  having  had  another.  Have  yoa  told  Waltet 
so?" 

*'  Bother  about  Walter !    Who  do  you  think  I'm  speaking  of  ? '  * 

'•  Captain  Scarthe,  perhaps — whom  you  admire  so  much.  Is  ha 
the  lover  you  have  lost  ?  " 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that  neither.    Guess  again  ? " 

"  A  third  there  is,  or  has  been !     You  wicked  coquette !  " 

**  Not  I.  I  never  gave  him  the  slightest  encouragement.  I  am 
sure,  never.    Did  you  ever  see  me,  coz  f " 

"  When  you  tell  me  who  this  lost  lover  is,  I  shall  be  the  better 
able  to  tell  you." 

"  Who  he  is !    Oomet  Stubbs,  of  course." 

"  Oh !  he.  And  how  have  you  come  to  lose  him  ?  Has  he  made 
away  with  himself?  He  hasn't  drowned  himself  in  the  mere,  I 
hope?" 

''I  don't  know;  I  shouldn't  like  to  swear  he  hasn't.  When  I 
last  looked  upon  his  ugly  {slco,  I  fancied  there  was  drowning  in  it. 
Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"Well,  my  light-hearted  coz;  your  loss  seems  to  sit  easily  upon 
you.    Pray  explain  yourself." 

"  Marion ! "  said  Lora,  catching  hold  of  her  cousin's  arm,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  greater  solemnity. ,  "  Would  you  beUeve  it — 
that  impertinent  has  again  proposed  to  me  ?  " 

"  What !  a  second  declaration  !  That  looks  more  like  finding  • 
lover,  than  losing  one." 

"  Ay,  a  second  declaration ;  and  this  time  far  more  determined 
than  before.    Why,  he  would  take  no  denial  I  " 

"And  what  answer  did  you  make  him?  '* 

"  Well,  the  first  time,  as  I  told  you,  I  gave  him  a  flat  refusal. 
This  time  it  wasn't  so  very  flat.  It  was  both  pointed  and  indignant. 
I  talked  to  him  sharp  enough :  no  mincing  of  words,  I  assure  you. 
And  yet,  to»*  all  that,  the  pig  persisted  in  his  proposal,  as  if  he  had 
the  power  to  force  me  to  say,  yes  !  I  couldn't  get  rid  of  him,  until 
I  threatened  him  with  a  box  on  the  ear.  Ay,  and  I'd  have  given  it 
him,  if  some  of  the  company  hadn't  come  up  at  the  time,  and  relieved 
rf.o  of  his  importunities.  I  shouldn't  have  cared  if  I  had  ever  given 
him  cause — the  impudent  pleb !  I  wonder  that  keeping  the  company 
of  his  more  accomplished  captain  don't  havo  the  effect  of  refining  him 
»  little — the  impertinent  upstart !  * 

"Haveyo^M4Wftlt»rr' 


t54  THE   HAWKING   PABTY. 

"No— khati  haven  t;  and  don't  you,  dear  Marion.    Tott  know 

"Walter  has  been  jealous  of  Stubbs — without  the  slightest  cause— 
and  might  want  to  challenge  him.  I  shouldn't  wish  that,  for  the 
world ;  though  I'd  like  some  one — not  Walter — ^to  teach  him  a  lejison 
such  as  your  brave  Henry  Holtspur  taught *' 

"  Ah !  "  exclaimed  the  speaker  suddenly  interrupting  herself,  as  she 
saw  the  painful  impression  which  the  mention  of  that  name  had  pro- 
duced. "  Pardon  me,  cousin !  I  had  quite  forgotten.  This  scene 
with  Stubbs  has  driven  everything  out  of  my  niind.  Oh,  dear  Mari- 
on !  Maybe  it  is  not  true  ?  There  may  be  some  mistake  ?  Dorothy 
Dayrell  is  wicked  enough  to  invent  anything ;  and  for  that  foppish 
brother  of  Miss  Winnifred  Wayland,  he  is  as  full  of  conceit  as  his 
own  sister ;  and  as  full  of  fieilsehood  as  his  cousin.  Dear  Marion  ! 
don't  take  it  for  truth !  It  may  be  all  a  misconception.  Holt- 
spur  may  not  be  married  after  idl;  and  if  he  be,  then  the  base 
vUlain " 

"  Lora !  "  interrupted  Marion,  in  a  firm  tone  of  voice,  "  I  com- 
mand— I  entreat  you — to  say  nothing  of  what  you  know— not  even 
to  Walter— and  above  all,  speak  not  of  Atm,  as  you  have  done  just 
now.  Even  if  he  be  what  you  have  said,  it  would  not  be  pleasant 
for  me  to  hear  it  repeated." 

**  But,  surely,  if  it  be  true,  you  would  not  continue  to  Jove  him  ? " 

**  I  could  not  help  it.    I  am  lost.    I  must  love  him." 

•*  Dear,  dear  Marion !  "  cried  Lora,  as  she  felt  the  arms  of  her 
cousin  entwined  around  her  neck,  and  saw  the  tears  streaming  down 
her  cheek.      "  I  pity  you — poor  Marion,  from  my  heart  I  pity  you 
Do  not  weep,  dearest.    It  will  pass.    In  time  you  will  cease  to  think 
of  hun." 

There  was  but  one  word  of  reply  to  these  affectionate  efforts  %i 
consolation. 

It  came  amid  tears  and  choking  sobs,  but  with  an  emphasis  and 
an  accent  that  admitted  of  no  rejoinder. 

«'  Never  !  '*  was  that  word,  pronounced  in  a  firm  unfaltering  tOM. 

Then,  tossing  her  head  backward,  and  by  a  vigorous  effort  of  her 
proud  spirit  assuming  an  air  oi  indifference,  the  speaker  clasped  the 
hand  of  her  cousin  and  walked  resolutely  back  towards  the  assemblagi 
from  which  she  had  so  furtively  separated 


WnC  EKTirRN  OF  THT5   OATTNlL*f.  $55 


CHAPTER  LV 


fBl  BITU&ir  or  THS  OAUHTLn. 


Of  all  who  dnjoyed  the  sports  of  the  hawking  party,  nc  km  left  it 
with  a  heavier  heart  than  Marion  Wade. 

The  shadows  of  night,  descending  over  the  lake  as  the  company 
took  their  departure  from  its  shores,  might  well  symbolize  the  shadow 
that  had  fallen  upon  her  heart. 

Throughout  the  afternoon,  it  had  been  a  hard  struggle  with  her  to 
conceal  her  chagrin  fromi  curious  eyes ;  to  appear  joyous,  amid  so 
many  happy  faces ;  to  wear  pretended  smiles,  while  those  around 
were  laughing  gayly. 

All  this,  however,  her  strength  of  character  had  enabled  her  to  ac- 
complish; though  it  was  like  removing  a  load  from  off  her  breast, 
when  the  falling  shades  of  twilight  summoned  the  party  to  a  sep- 
aration. 

That  night  no  sleep  for  Marion  Wade.  Not  enough  to  give  her  a 
moment's  relief  from  the  thoughts  that  tortured  her. 

Her  pillow  was  pressed,  but  with  a  pale  and  sleepless  cheek. 

And  often  during  the  night  had  she  risen  from  her  couch,  and  paced 
the  floor  of  her  apartment,  like  one  under  the  influence  of  a  delirious 
dream. 

The  bosom  that  has  been  betrayed  can  alone  understand  the  nature 
of  her  sufferings. 

Perhaps  only  a  woman's  heart  can  fully  appredate  the  pain  she 
was  enduring ! 

Hers  had  received  into  its  most  inmost  recesses — ^into  the  very  cit- 
adel itself— the  image  of  the  heroic  Holtspur. 

It  was  still  there ;  but  all  around  it  was  rankling  as  with  poison. 

The  arrow  had  entered. 

Its  distilled  venom  permeated  the  bosom  it  had  pierced. 

There  was  no  balsam  to  aubdue  the  pain  ;  no  hope,  to  afford  the 
slightest  solace;  only  regret  for  the  past,  and  despair  for  the  future. 

Until  that  day,  Marion  Wade  had  never  known  what  it  was  to  bi 
truly  unhappy 


S56 

Her  paiigs  of  jealousy  hitherto  experienced  had  been  slight,  ocih 
pared  with  those  which  were  now  wringing  her  breast. 

Even  her  apprehensions  for  the  fate  of  her  lover  had  been  endur- 
able ;  since  hope  for  his  safety  had  never  wholly  forsaken  her.  Dur- 
ing the  interval  that  had  elapsed  since  his  escape,  she  had  not  been 
altogether  unhappy. 

Her  heart  had  been  fortified  by  hope ;  and  still  further  supported 
by  the  remembrance  of  that  last  sweet  interview. 

So  long  as  Holtspur  lived  and  loved  her,  she  felt  that  she  could  be 
happy — even  under  those  circumstances  hypothetically  foreshadowed 
in  his  parting  speeches. 

There  were  times  when  she  pondered  on  their  mysterious  import ; 
when  she  wondered  what  they  could  have  meant — and  not  without  a 
sense  of  dissatisfation. 

But  she  had  not  allowed  this  to  intrude  itself  either  often  or  long. 

Her  love  was  too  loyal,  too  trusting,  to  be  shaken  by  suspicions. 
She  remembered  how  unjust  had  been  those  formerly  indulged  in; 
and,  influenced  by  this  memory,  she  had  resolved  never  again  to  give 
way  to  doubt,  without  some  certain  sign — such  as  the  return  of  the 
love-token,  as  arranged  between  them. 

She  might  have  had  cause  to  wonder,  why  she  had  not  heard  from 
him — if  only  a  word  to  ensure  her  of  his  safety.  But  she  was  not 
chagrined  by  his  silence. 

The  risk  of  communicating  with  her  might  accoimt  for  it. 

Under  an  hypocritical  pretense  of  duty— of  obedience  to  orders 
he  dared  not  depart  from — the  cuirassier  captain  permitted  nothing, 
not  even  an  epistle,  to  enter  the  mansion  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade, 
without  being  first  submitted  to  his  own  scrutiny. 

Since  the  hour  of  his  escape,  the  only  intimation  she  had  had  oi 
her  lost  lover,  almost  the  first  time  she  had  heard  his  name  pronoun- 
ced— was  when  coupled  with  those  two  words,  that  were  now  filling 
her  with  woe — "  his  wife  !  " 

Marion  had  hpard  no  more. 

She  had  stayed  for  no  farther  torture  from  those  scandaHoTJng 
lips. 

She  had  heard  that  her  lover — the  man  to  whom  she  had  sun<n- 
dered  the  reins  of  her  heart — was  the  husband  of  another ! 

That  was  knowledge  enough  for  one  hour  of  wretchedness — ay, 
for  a  whole  lifetime  of  sadness  and  chagrin. 

Though  in  the  midst  of  that  gay  assemblage,  she  had  not  essayed 
fto  seek  an  explanation ;  she  was  now  desirous  of  havuig  it. 


BBTCaN  0*  tSLH  GAtTNtL«r.  M, 

So  long  as  the  slightest  remnant  of  either  hope  or  doubt  remains 
within  the  mind  of  one  who  suspects  an  unrequited  passion,  that 
mind  cannot  feel  any  satisfaction. 

It  will  seek  the  truth — although  the  search  may  conduct  to  eter- 
nal ruin. 

So  determined  the  daughter  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade,  during  the 
mid-hours  of  that  sleepless  night ;  and,  long  before  the  great  bell  of 
Bulstrode  summoned  its  retainers  to  their  daily  toil,  the  young  mis- 
tress of  this  lordly  mansion  might  have  been  seen — closely  wrapped 
in  cloak  and  hood — issuing;  forth  from  one  of  its  portals ;  and,  imder 
the  gray  light  of  dawn,  with  quick  but  stealthy  step,  making  her 
way  over  the  dew-bespangled  pastures  of  its  park. 

The  gate  through  which  she  had  often  passed  outward  into  th« 
high  road — often,  of  late,  with  a  heart  trembling  in  sweet  anticipation 
— ^was  the  one  towards  which  she  directed  her  steps. 

How  different  was  now  her  prospect — how  dissimilar  her  purpose ! 

She  went  not  forth  to  meet  one,  whom,  though  still  undeclared, 
she  instinctively  believed  to  be  her  lover — ^loyal  and  true. 

Her  errand  was  no  more  of  this  joyous  nature,  but  the  sad  reverse. 
It  was  to  make  inquiries  as  to  that  lover's  loyalty,  or  seek  confirma- 
tion of  his  falsehood. 

Who  could  give  the  wished-for  information  ?  From  whom  weie 
the  inquiries  to  be  made  ? 

She  could  think  of  no  one  save  Holtspur  himself;  and  the  white 
paper — clutched  in  a  hand  almost  as  white,  concealed  under  her  cloak, 
gave  a  clue  to  her  design. 

It  was  an  epistle  that  had  been  penned  by  the  light  ^f  the  mid- 
night lamp,  and  sealed  under  a  flood  of  scorching  tears. 

There  was  no  direction  upon  it — only  the  name  Henry  Holtspur. 

She  knew  not  his  address. 

She  was  taking  it  to  a  place  where  she  had  hopes  of  seeing  some 
one  who  might  be  able  to  forward  it  to  its  destination. 

The  path  she  was  following  pointed  to  this  place. 

It  was  the  road  leading  to  Stone  Dean. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  thought  of  thus  commnnicating 
with  her  absent  lover. 

She  had  forborne,  partly  through  fear  of  being  betrayed  by 
those  to  whom  her  letter  might  be  entrusted — partly  by  the  feminine 
reflection  that  he,  not  she,  should  be  the  first  to  write — and  partlf 
1^  the  hope,  deferred  from  day  to  day,  that  he  would  write. 


858  >HB  BirrtJBK  OF  THE  GAUllJUBr. 

These  hindrances  she  regarded  no  longer. 

An  epistle  was  now  addressed  to  him— far  different  firom  thai 
hitherto  intended. 

It  was  no  longer  a  letter  of  loTe,  but  one  filled  with  reproachei 
and  regrets. 

•  ••••••• 

Marion  "Wade  was  not  the  only  one  under  her  father's  roof  who 
*t  that  same  hour  had  been  employing  the  pen. 

Another  had  been  similarly  occupied. 

As  a  soldier,  Scarthe  was  accustomed  to  keep  early  hours. 

It  was  a  rare  circumstance  for  him  to  be  a-bed  after  six  o'clock  io 
the  morning. 

In  those  times  of  political  agitation,  the  military  man  often  took 
part  in  State  intrigues;  and  in  this  craft  the  cuirassier  captain,  under 
the  guidance  of  his  royal  patroness,  had  inextricably  engaged 
himself. 

This  double  duty  entailed  upon  him  an  extensive  correspondence. 
to  which  his  morning  hours  were  chiefly  devoted. 

Although  essentially  a  man  of  pleasure,  he  did  not  surrender  him- 
self to  idleness. 

He  was  too  ambitious  to  be  inactive ;  and  both  his  military  az^d 
political  duties  were  attended  to  with  system  and  energy. 

On  the  day  of  the  hawking  party  his  correspondence  had  fallen 
behind ;  and,  to  clear  off  the  arrears,  he  was  astir  at  a  very  early 
hour  next  morning  and  busy  before  his  writing  table. 

His  military  and  political  dispatches  were  not  the  only  matters 
that  called  for  the  use  of  his  pen  on  this  particular  morning. 

Upon  the  table  before  him  lay  a  sealed  packet,  that  might  have 
contained  a  letter,  but  evidently  something  more,  something  of  a 
different  character,  as  indicated  by  its  shape  and  size. 

But  there  was  no  letter  inside ;  and  the  object  within  the  envelope 
might  be  guessed  at,  by  the  soliloquy  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  Cap- 
tain Scarthe,  as  he  sat  regarding  it^ 

It  was  a  glove — ^the  white  gauntlet,  once  worn  upon  the  hand  of 
Marion  Wade — once  worn  upon  the  hat  of  Henry  Holtspur,  and 
thence  surreptitiously  abstracted. 

It  was  once  more  to  be  restored  to  its  original  owner,  in  a  secret 
•nd  mysterious  manner ;  and  to  that  end  had  it  been  enclosed  in  a 
wrapping  of  spotless  paper,  and  sealed  with  a  blank  seal  stamp. 

As  yet  there  was  no  superscription  upon  the  parcel ;  and  be  whf 


THE  RETURN   ( \F   TITK   GAUNTLET.  16© 

llAd  made  it  up  sat  contemplating  it,  pen  in  hand,  as  if  uncsrUm  M 
to  how  he  should  address  it. 

It  was  not  this,  however,  about  which  he  was  pausing. 

He  knew  the  address  well  enough. 

It  was  the  mode  of  writing  it — the  chirography — that  was  occupy 
ing  his  thoughts. 

"  Ha !  "  he  exclaimed  at  length,  "  an  exellent  idea.  It  must  b« 
like  his  handwriting ;  which  in  all  probability  she  is  acquainted  with. 
I  can  easily  imitate  it.  Thank  fortune  I've  got  copies  enough — in 
this  traitorous  correspondence." 

As  he  said  this,  he  drew  towards  him  a  number  of  papers,  con- 
sisting of  letters  and  other  documents. 

They  were  those  he  had  taken  from  Stone  Dean,  on  the  morning 
of  Holtspur's  arrest. 

After  regarding  them  for  some  seconds,  with  the  attention  of  an 
expert  in  the  act  of  deciphering  some  difficult  manuscript,  he  took 
his  pen  and  wrote  upon  the  parcel  the  words — 

"  Mistress  Marion  Wade." 

"That  will  be  enough,"  reflected  he.  "The  address  is  super 
fluous.  It  would  never  do  for  it  to  be  delivered  at  the  house.  It 
must  be  put  into  her  hands  secretly,  as  if  sent  by  a  trusty  messen- 
ger. There's  no  reason  why  she  should  mistrust  the  woodman 
Walford.  She  may  know  him  to  have  been  in  Holtspur's  service,  and 
can  scarce  have  heard  of  his  defection.  He'll  do.  He  must  watch 
for  an  opportunity,  when  she  goes  out.  I  wonder  what  delays  the 
knave.  He  should  have  been  here  by  this  time.  I  told  him  to  comt 
before  daylight.  Ah,  speak  of  the  flend.  That  must  be  his  shadow 
passing  the  window."  » 

As  Scarthe  said  this,  he  hastily  rose  to  his  feet ;  scattered  8om« 
drying  sand  over  the  wet  superscription ;  and  taking  the  packet  from, 
the  table,  walked  towards  the  door  to  meet  his  messenger. 

It  was  the  traitor  Walford,  whose  shadow  had  been  seen  passing 
the  window. 

His  patron  found  him  standing  on  the  step. 

He  was  not  admitted  inside  the  house. 

The  business,  for  the  execution  of  which  he  was  required,  had  been 
already  arranged ;  and  a  few  words  of  instruction,  spoken  in  a  low 
tone,  sufficed  to  impart  to  him  a  full  comprehension  of  its  nature. 

He  was  told  that  the  packet  then  placed  in  his  hands  was  fof 
Mistress  Marion  Wade ;  that  he  was  to  watch  for  an  opportunity 


JfiO  THE  EETUEN  OP  THB  QAJTSTtJfft, 

when  she  would  be  out  of  doors  ;  and  deliver  it  to  her,  if  possible^ 
unseen  by  any  third  party. 

He  was  instructed  to  assume  an  air  of  secresy ;  to  announce  himseh 
•8  a  messenger  of  Henry -Holtspur;  and  after  delivering  a  verbal 
message,  supposed  to  proceed  from  the  cavalier,  but  carefully  con 
cocted  by  Scarthe,  he  was  to  hasten  out  of  the  lady's  presence, 
and  avoid  the  danger  of  a  cross-questioning. 

"Now,  begone  !  **  commanded  his  employer,  when  he  had  com- 
pleted his  chapter  of  instructions.  "  Get  away  from  the  house,  if 
you  can,  without  being  observed.  It  won't  do  for  you  to  be  seen 
here  at  this  early  hour,  least  of  all  on  a  visit  to  me.  Let  me  know 
when  you  have  succeeded;  and  if  you  do  the  business  adroitly,  1 
shall  double  this  douceur." 

As  Scarthe  said  this,  he  slipped  a  gold  coin  into  the  hand  of  the 
pseudo  messenger ;  and  turning  up«n  his  heel,  walked  back  towards 
his  apartment. 

The  woodman,  after  grinning  gleefully  at  the  gold  that  lay  gUsten- 
ing  in  his  palm,  thrust  the  piece  into  his  pocket ;  and  gliding  down 
from  the  steps,  commenced  making  a  stealthy  departure  through  the 
shrubbery. 

He  little  thought  how  near  he  was  to  the  opportunity  he  desired, 
of  earning  the  duphcate  of  that  ckmceur. 

But  fate,  or  the  fiend,  was  propitious  to  him. 

On  clearing  the  moated  enclosure,  he  saw  before  him  the  form  of  a 
woman,  closely  wrapped  in  cloak  and  hood. 

She,  too,  seemed  hastening  onward  with  stealthy  step ;  but  the 
tall,  symmetrical  figure,  and  the  rich  robes  that  enveloped  it,  left  no 
doubt  upon  the  mind  of  Walford  as  to  the  person  who  was  preceding 
him  down  the  sloping  avenue  of  Bulstrode  Park. 

It  was  the  young  mistress  of  the  mansion — she  for  whom  his 
message  was  intended — she  who  would  be  made  wretched  by  its 
delivery. 

The  emissary  of  Scarthe  neither  knew,  nor  would  have  cared  for 
this. 

His  only  thought  was  to  earn  the  promised  perquisite;  and  with 
this  object  in  view  he  followed  the  female  figure  fast  flitting  towards 
M*e  gate  of  the  park. 

Quickly  and  silently  did  Marion  glide  upon  her  errand. 

Absorbed  by  its  painful  nature,  she  fancied  herself  unobserved. 

She  saw  not  the  dark  form  skulking  but  a  short  distance  behind 


TUB  BBTDBIf  Ot  THB  aAtJVJXJff.  361 

her,  like  an  evil  shadow,  ill-defined,  ander  the  dim  light  of  the  dawiij 
and  keeping  pace  with  her  steps  as  she  advanced. 

Unconscious  of  the  proximity  of  her  suspicious  follower,  shi 
(yassed  out  through  the  park  gates,  and  on  along  the  forest  road,  • 
path  well  known  to  her. 

Never  before  had  she  trodden  it  with  a  heavier  heart. 

Never  before  had  she  stood  under  the  shadow  of  the  trysting  treo, 
to  her  now  sadly  sacred,  influenced  by  such  painful  emotion. 

She  paused  beneath  its  out-spreading  branches. 

She  could  not  resist  the  mystic  spell  which  the  place  seened  to 
cast  around  her. 

There  was  something  even  in  the  sadness  of  its  souvenirs  that  had 
a  very  soothing  effect  upon  her  spirits,  that  could  scarce  have  been 
more  embittered. 

Whether  soothing  or  saddening,  she  was  permitted  to  indulge  only 
%  short  time  in  silent  reflection. 

A  heavy  footfall — evidently  that  of  a  man — was  heard  approaching 
along  the  path,  and  shuMng  among  the  crisp  leaves  with  which  it 
was  bestrewed. 

The  sounds  grew  louder  and  drew  nearer,  until  he  who  was  causing 
them  came  in  sight — a  rustic  making  his  way  through  the  wood. 

Marion  knew  the  man — the  woodman  Walford. 

She  knew  him  only  by  sight,  and  but  slightly. 

She  had  no  words  for  such  as  he,  especially  in  an  hour  like  that. 

She  moved  not. 

Her  eyes  were  averted. 

The  intruder  might  have  passed  on,  without  receiving  from  her 
eren  a  nod  of  recognition,  had  such  been  his  wish. 

It  was  only  on  hearing  her  own  name  pronounced,  and  seeing  the 
man  advance  towards  her,  that  the  young  lady  took  note  of  his 
presence. 

"Mistress  Wade !  "  muttered  he,  awkwardly  uncovering  his  head, 
and  making  a  bow  of  doubtful  politeness. 

"What  want  you  with  me,  sir.?  "  asked  Marion,  in  a  tone  that 
betrayed  both  annoyance  and  astonishment. 

"I've  been  follerin'  thee,  mistress,  all  the  way  frae  the  big  house. 
I  want  to  see  thee  alone." 

"Alone !     And  for  what  purpose,  sirrah  ?  " 

The  interrogatory  was  uttered  in  a  voice  that  betokened  indign*' 
tton*  not  unmingled  with  alarm. 

10 


«>a  TH»  RATUttN   OF  THE  GAQETrLIET. 

No  wonder. 

He  to  whom  it  was  addressed  was  not  the  man  with  whom  a  tinid 
woman  would  elect  to  hold  an  interview  alone  and  in  the  heart  of  a 
wood 

W^as  the  rustic  intruding  himself  with  an  evil  intention? 

The  apprehensions,  thus  quicklj  conceived,  were  as  speedily  dis  • 
fiipated  bj  the  woodman  declaring  himself  to  have  come  in  the 
capacity  of  a  messenger. 

"I  ha'  bro'ght  thee  a  package^  Mistress  Wade,"  said  he,  drawing 
something  from  under  the  skirt  of  his  doublet.  "It  be  a  small  'un, 
I  trow;  but  for  all  that  I  dam't  gie  it  ye  afore  company,  for  I  bed 
orders  not  to  b'  'im  as  sent  me." 

"  Who  sent  you  ? "  hastily  inquired  the  lady,  at  the  same  time 
taking  the  packet  from  the  hand  of  the  cautious  carrier. 

"Master  Holtspur,"  bluntly  replied  the  man. 

"I  darn't  stay  here  aside  ye,*'  continued  he.  "Some  o' them 
may  come  this  way,  an'  see  us  togither.  I've  only  to  tell  ye  that 
Master  Holtspur  be  safe,  an'  that  it  be  all  right  atween  *im  an*  *it 
wife.  They  be  reconciled  agin.  But  I  needn't  be  tellin'  ye  that :  I 
suppose  it's  all  wrote  inside  the  package.  Now,  mistress,  I  must 
away,  an'  get  back  to  *im  as  sent  me.    Good  momin'." 

With  another  grotesque  attempt  at  polite  salutation,  the  deliverer 
of  the  message  walked  hurriedly  away,  and  was  very  soon  lost  to 
the  sight  ot  its  trembling  recipient. 

Marion  had  listened  to  his  words  without  knowing  their  wicked 
design,  without  even  suspecting  that  they  were  false.  But  false  or 
true,  she  did  not  imagine  there  could  be  a  new  pang  conveyed  in  th«r 
meaning.  She  had  already  felt  the  sting,  as  she  supposed,  in  all  its 
black  bitterness.  She  did  not  believe  that  in  the  same  quiver  there 
was  another  arrow,  bearing  upon  its  point  a  still  more  potent 
poison. 

She  felt  it,  as  with  trembling  fingers  she  broke  the  seal,  and  tore 
open  the  envelope  of  that  tiny  parcel.  To  her  heart's  core  she  felt 
it,  as  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  contents. 

Her  token  returned  to  her — that  fatal  gift— f^  White  Gauntlet ! 

The  glove  dropped  to  the  ground  ;  and  wnth  a  suppressed  screaiu, 
that  sounded  like  the  knell  of  a  shattered  I  eart,  Manon  Wade  sujik 
beside  it ! 

For  some  moments  she  lay  along  the  graiui,  likje  some  beautifui 
itatue  struck  down  from  its  pedestal 


GAimTLSr.  363 

She  was  uot  nnconscious,  only  unnerved  and  rendered  powerless 
bj  a  strong,  quick  spasm  of  despair. 

Beyond  the  stifled  scream,  that  escaped  her  as  she  fell,  no  sound 
escaped  from  her  lips. 

Hers  was  a  despair  that  speech  was  incapable  of  relieving.  There 
was  nothing  on  which  hope  could  hinge  itself. 

The  restored  token  told  the  tale  in  all  its  sad  reality. 

A  letter — a  volume — could  not  have  conveyed  the  information 
nore  fully. 

Holtspur  no  longer  loved  her ! 

There  was  even  a  more  fell  reflection.  He  had  never  loved  her : 
else  how  could  he  have  changed  so  soon  ? 

The  paroxysm  at  length  passed,  and  the  prostrate  form  once  more 
stood  erect.  Erect,  but  not  triumphant.  Sad  and  subdued  was  tho 
spirit  that  animated  it — almost  shivered  by  that  fearful  shock. 

In  silent  agony  she  turned  to  go  homeward.  She  no  more  ro- 
membered  the  errand  that  had  summoned  her  forth.  It  was  no 
longer  of  any  importance.  The  information  she  would  have  sought 
had  met  her  on  the  way — had  been  communicated  with  a  fullness  and 
surety  that  left  nothing  to  be  added. 

Holt?pur  loved  her  no  more. 

With  that  thought  in  her  mind,  what  mattered  it  whether  he  were 
married  or  no  ?  But  the  words  of  the  messenger  had  equally  ended 
all  doubt  of  this. 

If  there  might  be  any  lingering  uncertainty  as  to  what  she  hewd, 
there  could  be  none  as  to  what  she  saw. 

There  lay  the  White  Gauntlet  under  her  eyes — down  among  tho 
weeds.  It  lay  neglected  as  if  without  an  owner — no  more  to  bo 
regarded  by  Marion  Wade;  or  only  as  the  cause  of  a  life-long 
anguish. 

Slowly  and  sadly  she  retraced  the  forest  path ;  slowly  and  sadly 
she  re-entered  the  gateway  of  the  park ;  slowly  and  sadly  she 
walked  back  along  that  avenue,  once  trodden  by  her  with  a  bosom 
filled  with  supremest  Joy 


W4  BOARTHE    ftEJECHED. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 


80ABTHB    Kl^JBOTlD 

The  course  which  Scarthe  was  pursuing  may  seem  str&nge. 
He  now  knew  that  for  the  hand  of  Marion  Wade,  Holtspur  could 
not  be  his  rival. 

What,  then,  could  be  his  motive  for  sending  back  the  glove :  for 
motive  there  must  have  been  ? 
There  was  one ;  though  to  say  the  truth  it  was  not  very  definite. 

He  was  still  uncertain  as  to  the  state  of  Marion's  heart — still  in 
doubt  whether  the  white  gauntlet  had  or  had  not  been  a  gag« 
d^amour. 

If  the  former,  then  the  restoring  of  it,  as  designed  by  him,  might 
produce  a  revulsion  of  feeling  in  his  own  favor ;  if  not,  no  evil  could 
result  to  him  from  the  act. 

On  his  side  the  sending  back  of  the  glove  was  a  mere  conjectural 
experiment — made  under  a  vague  fancy  that  it  might,  to  some  little 
extent,  further  his  interests. 

If  in  the  mind  of  Marion  Wade  there  existed  a  partiality  for  the 
patriot  conspirator,  a  sight  such  as  that  should  crush  out  every 
vestige  of  the  feeling,  and  create  a  reaction  in  favor  of  the  first  fresh 
lover  who  might  present  himself— Richard  Scarthe  more  likely  than 
Miy  other. 

Little  did  he  anticipate  the  terrible*  effect  which  that  returned 
token,  with  the  message  that  accompanied  it,  would  have  upon  he»r 
who  was  to  receive  it. 

He  knew  nothing  of  the  strange  conditions  which  the  lovers  had 
arranged  at  their  last  parting. 

He  had  too  much  experience  in  the  heart  of  woman  to  have 
reasoned  thus — had  he  not  been  purblind  with  his  own  passion. 

In  this  condition,  however,  he  gave  way  to  a  fancy  that,  under 
other  circumstances,  he  would  have  instantly  rejected. 

He  was  also  influenced  by  considerations  of  a  very  different  kind. 

The  hand  of  Marion  Wade  was  almost  as  desirable  fts  he^  ]ie<Mt^ 
ft  rathar  the  fortune  that  should  accunpany  \%, 


80ASTBB  BEJEOTSO. 


S65 


The  cuirassier  captain  possessed  but  his  pay— along  with  pro  ad 
patronage  it  is  true — but  neither  was  anything  to  make  him  what  ha 
should  become  as  the  son-in-law  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade. 

The  crisis  had  arrived  to  attempt  bringing  about  this  desired  relft^* 
tionship. 

It  must  not  be  delayed. 

The  power  he  possessed  for  its  accomplishment  might  at  any  mo- 
ment pass  out  of  his  hands. 

The  times  were  uncertain ;  and  procrastination  might  imperil  hif 
chances  of  success. 

The  sending  of  the  glove  was  the  first  move  in  the  matrimonial 
icheme  ho  had  concocted. 

It  was  to  be  followed  by  an  offer  of  his  hand. 

If  the  offer  should  be  accepted,  well;  if  not,  then  stronger  meas« 
ores  were  to  be  adopted. 

Such  was  the  programme  that  had  passed  through  the  mind  of 
Kichard  Scarthe ;  and  was  still  before  it,  as  he  paced  the  floor  of  bdi 
apartment,  an  hour  after  having  dismissed  the  messenger  Walford. 

"I  wonder,"  said  he,  as  he  reflected  upon  the  importance  of  time^ 
"when  the  fellow  Walford  will  succeed  in  delivering  his  false  mefr* 
Bage.^  He's  but  a  dull-brained  dolt;  though  knave  enough  for  that, 
or  anything  else.  I  hope  he  won't  be  so  stupid  as  to  bring  it  back  to 
the  house ;  or  give  it  her  in  the  presence  of  any  one.  Surely  he  will 
have  understood  my  instructions  about  that  ?  I  told  him  to  watch 
for  her  till  she  walked  abroad,  and  alone.  But  when  may  that  be  ? 
Perhaps  not  to-day ;  nor  to-morrow ;  nor  for  many  days  ?  I'm  burn- 
ing with  impatience  to  bring  the  business  to  a  conclusion.     What, 

after  all  my  well-conceived  strategy,  if Ho !  who  comes  yonder  ' 

By  Heaven !  'tis  Walford !  What  brings  the  brute  back  ?  From 
tlie  grin  upon  that  hideous  countenance  of  his — intended  no  doubt  for 
a  smile — one  might  fancy  he  had  already  accomplished  his  errand.  I 
must  go  forth  and  meet  him — before  he  shows  himself  in  front  of  the 
windows.  It's  early  yet,  and  I  see  no  one  abroad;  still  some  of 
them  may  be  astir  inside  ?    He  must  not  be  seen  coming  here." 

With  this  reflection,  Scarthe  seized  his  beaver ;  and  flinging  it  upon 
his  head,  sallied  forth  from  the  house. 

In  the  thick  of  the  shrubbery  he  encountered  the  returning  en* 
Toy. 

"  Well,  Walford,"  said  he,  "  what  has  brought  you  back  ao  soon} 
{Xaa  anything  miscarried  ^  *' 


M 


8GABTHS  BBJEOTED. 


"  Not  as  I  knows  on.  Master  Gapten.  Only  «s  ociii'  a*  earlj  bard 
this  mornin'  I  ha*  picked  up  the  early  wurum." 

"  Ah !  what  mean  you  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  gin  it  to  her." 

"  Gin  it  to  her  ?    What,  and  to  whom  ?  »* 

" The  packidge — ^to  the  young  lady.** 

"  What,  you  don*t  say  that  you  have  seen •* 

"Mistress  Marion?  Sartinly  I  do,  Master  Capten,  Seen  her; 
gied  her  the  packidge;  an*  sayed,  what  ye  told  me  to  say.** 

"When?    Where?** 

"  For  the  fust — it  han't  been  gone  a  half-hour  since  the  words  pas- 
sed out  o'  me  mouth ;  an'  as  to  the  where,  that  war  *bout  a  mile  frai 
heear — on  the  wood-road  as  runs  froom  the  Park  to  Stone  Dean.** 

"  She  there  at  this  hour  ?    You  must  be  mistaken,  my  man  ? " 

"  No  mistake  'bout  it,  Master  Capten ;  I  seed  her,  an'  spoke  to  her, 
IS  ye  bid  me.  I've  seed  her  a  many  a  time  along  that  road.  It  be  a 
favorite  ride  wi*  her ;  but  she  bean't  a  horseback  this  momin*.  She 
be  afut." 

"  And  alone,  you  say  ?  *' 

"Sartmly,  Master:  else  how  could  I  ha*  gied  her  the  packidge? 
Ye  told  me  to  let  no  one  see  me  handin*  it  to  her." 

"  This  is  strange,**  muttered  Scarthe  to  himselt  **  You  are  sure 
there  was  no  one  near  her  ?  ** 

"  I  seed  ne*er  a  creetur.** 

"What  was  she  doing?  *' 

«*  Nothin*  capten ;  only  standin*  under  a  tree — ^the  big  beech  as 
grows  in  the  middle  o'  the  road.  I  went  up  to  her  pretty  quick,  les) 
she  might  gi'  me  the  slip.  Arter  I  put  the  packidge  i'  her  hand,  aft' 
sayed  what  ye  told  me,  I  coomed  directly  away.** 

"You  left  her  tltere?** 

"  Left  her,  just  as  I  found  her— under  the  big  beech." 

"  And  you  met  no  one  as  you  returned  along  the  road  ?  '• 

*•  Neither  met,  nor  passed,  a  sinner.** 

"  You  think  she  may  be  there  still  ?    You  say  you  came  direct  ?" 

**  Straight  as  the  road  'ud  let  me,  tapten.  I  won't  say  she  be 
theear  still — that  are,  under  the  tree ;  but  she  ain't  got  home  as  yet : 
for  I  coomed  as  fast  as  m©  legs  'ud  carry  me.  I  knew  ye  didn't  want 
me  seen  'bout  here,  an'  I  tho'ght  I  would  be  safest  to  coora  up  afor« 
the  sarvints  were  stirrin*.  She  beean't  got  home  yet,  UPr  half  o'  tht 
iray^yen  supposin'  she  set  off  right  arter  »•.** 


80ABTHE  BEJSOTKDu  S87 

"The  road  to  Stone  Dean,  you  say  ?  ** 

**  That  as  goes  through  Stampwell's  Wood,  an'  oyer  the  hills.  It 
strikes  off  from  the  king's  highway,  a  leetle  beyond  the  gates  o'  thi 
park." 

"  I  know — ^I  know.  There,  my  man !  Something  to  get  you  youf 
morning  dram.  Away  at  once;  and  don't  let  yourself  be  seen  in  my 
company.  Go  where  you  like  now ;  but  be  in  your  own  nest  at  night : 
I  may  want  you." 

The  messenger  took  the  money;  and  along  with  it  his  instant  de- 
parture. 

<*  What  the  deuce  can  she  be  doing  out  at  this  hour  ?  "  inquired 
Scarthe  of  himself,  as  he  strode  nervously  across  the  parterre. 

"  Ah !  the  place — the  forest  road  leading  to  Stone  Dean !      Can  it 

be  possible  that  he .    The  fiends !      If  it  be  so,  I  may  yet  be  in 

time  to  take  him.  Ho,  there ! "  he  cried  to  the  guard  corporal,  who 
had  just  appeared  outside  the  court-yard  gate.  "  A  dozen  men  to 
horse.  Quick,  corporal !  Let  them  not  lose  a  moment.  I  shall  b« 
out  before  they  have  time  to  strap  on  their  saddles." 

And,  having  delivered  these  orders,  he  turned  back  into  his  room; 
and  commenced  encasing  his  body  in  the  steel  armor  that  lay  in  pieces 
around  the  apartment. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes'  time  he  was  armed  cap-a-pied.  Staying 
only  to  quafi  oft  a  cup  of  wine — ^which  he  hurriedly  filled  from  a 
decanter  that  stood  upon  the  side  table — he  passed  out  of  his  apart- 
ment ;  and  strode  clanking  along  the  stane-flagged  corridor  that  com- 
municated with  the  rear  of  the  dwelling. 

Emerging  into  the  court-yard,  he  mounted  his  horse — ^already 
oomparisoned  to  receive  him ;  and,  giving  the  word  of  command  to 
the  cuirassiers,  who  had  climbed  to  their  saddles,  he  galloped  out  of 
the  court— on  towards  the  entfanos  of  the  park  that  opened  in  thf 
direction  of  Stone  Dean. 

It  was  a  short  gallop— ending  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  began.  It 
came  to  a  termination,  at  the  head  oi  the  hill — down  which  trended 
the  long  avenue  skirted  with  chestnuts  trees. 

There  Scarthe  suddenly  checked  his  steed — at  the  same  time  giving 
his  followers  the  order  to  halt. 

Naturally  enough,  the  troopers  were  a  little  surprised  at  this  sud- 
den interruption  of  their  ride ;  but  they  were  altogether  astonished 
ftt  a  second  order — ^following  quick  upon  the  first — ^which  ei^oined 
opon  them  to  wheel  round,  and  return  to  their  stables ! 


W8  SOABTHB  KBJBOTEII. 

They  obeyed,  t>ioiigh  not  without  a  show  of  reluctance. 

They  would  iu.^li  rather  have  continued  their  excursion --fiuppo9> 
hig  it  to  have  been  intended  for  some  foraging  expedition  that  promis* 
ed  pleasure  and  plunder. 

They  were  not  entirely  ignorant  of  what  had  caused  the  counter- 
mand. 

As  they  were  wheeling  upon  the  path,  they  had  caught  sight  of  an 
object  at  the  other  end  of  the  avenue,  whose  motions  betrayed  it  to 
be  animate. 

Though  but  dimly  seen  through  the  dawn,  and  under  the  shadow 
of  the  chestnuts,  they  could  tell  what  it  was — the  figure  of  a  woman. 

**  A  sail  in  sight !  "  muttered  one,  who  had  seen  salt-water  service. 
"  The  captain's  going  to  hail  the  craft;  and  don't  want  us  Jack-tars 
on  the  quarter-deck." 

"  'Tis  she !  "  muttered  Scarthe  to  himself,  as  his  followers  retired. 
"  Even  if  he  has  been  with  her,  'twould  be  of  little  use  going  after 
him  now.  He  would  scarce  be  such  a  fool  as  to  remain  upon  the 
ground.  'Tis  impossible  she  can  have  seen  any  one,  since  Walford 
left  her.  There  has  not  been  time  for  an  interview,  such  as  that.  She 
may  have  been  with  him  before.  If  so,  the  sham  message  will  result 
in  my  own  discomfiture.  Or  she  may  have  been  expecting  him,  and 
he  has  not  come.  If  so,  the  parcel  will  be  just  in  time.  I  can  scarce 
look  for  such  a  lucky  combination  of  circumstances. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ? "  he  continued,  after  a  pause.  "  If  she  has  not 
met  him,  it  is  a  splendid  opportunity  for  my  proposal !  The  events 
are  ominous  of  success.    Shall  I  make  it  now — this  moment  ? 

"  There  is  danger  in  delay,"  he  muttered,  as  the  old  adage  came 
into  his  mind.  "  She  may  have  some  means  of  communicating  with 
him ;  and  the  glove  trick  may  be  discovered  ?  I  shall  trust  no  longer 
to  chance.  This  uncertainty  is  insufferable.  Within  the  hour  I  shall 
put  an  end  to  it,  and  find  out  my  fate,  one  way  or  the  other.  If  ac- 
cepted, then  shall  Richard  Scarthe  play  traitor  to  his  king,  and  the 
good  knight  Sir  Marmaduke  may  conspire  to  his  heart's  content.  II 
rejected,  then^ — ^in  that  contingency — ah — then— the  old  rebel  will 
risk  the  losing  of  his  head. 

"  Now,  Mistress  Marion  Wade,"  apostrophized  he,  as  he  watched 
the  advancing  figure.  "On  thine  answer  there  is  much  depending. 
your  father's  head  and  my  happiness.  I  hope  you  will  be  gracious, 
and  give  security  to  both.  If  you  refuse  me,  then  must  I  make  use 
of  that  power,  with  which  a  lucky  chance  has  provided  me.    Surely 


thy  &ther'8  danger  will  undo  your  objections  ?  If  you  resist,  let  tht 
ruin  fall — let  him  suffer  his  doom  ! 

"  I  nmst  dismount  and  meet  her,'*  he  continued,  as  he  saw  Marion 
coming  on  with  slow  steps.  "  A  declaration  in  the  saddle  would 
never  do.  It  mast  be  made  on  foot — or  still  more  humbly  on  bended 
knee ;  and  so  shall  it,  if  that  be  necessary  to  secure  success.  Ha, 
ha !  what  would  they  say  at  court  ?  The  invincible  Scarthe,  who  han 
made  conquest  of  a  queen,  kneeling  in  humble  suit  at  the  feet  of  a 
country  maiden — the  daughter  of  a  rank  rebel — ^begging  for  her 
heart,  and  worse  still,  bargaining  for  her  hand !     Ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

While  uttering  this  laugh,  he  flung  himself  from  his  horse ;  and, 
tossing  the  rein  of  his  bridle  over  the  branch  of  a  tree,  commenced 
descending  the  hill. 

Although  advancing  towards  the  interview,  with  all  the  noncha- 
lance he  was  capable  of  assuming,  he  was  at  the  same  time  trembling 
with  apprehension  as  to  the  result. 

He  met  the  maiden  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  under  the  sombre 
shadow  of  the  chestnuts. 

He  encountered  a  look  of  cold  surprise,  accompanied  by  a  simple 
nod  of  recognition. 

Such  a  reception  might  have  turned  him  from  his  purpose ;  but  it 
did  not. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  to  propose ;  and  without  much  circmn* 
locution,  he  proceeded  to  carry  out  the  intention. 

"  Mistress  Marion  Wade,"  said  he,  approaching  her  with  an  air  oi 
profound  respect,  and  bowing  low  as  he  drew  near ,  "  if  you  be  not 
offended  by  my  intruding  upon  you  at  this  early  hour,  I  shall  thank 
the  fate  that  has  favored  me.'* 

« Captain  Scarthe,  this  interview  is  unexpected." 

"  By  me  it  has  been  sought.  I  have  been  for  some  time  desiroui 
of  an  opportunity  to  speak  with  you  alone." 

<*  To  speak  with  me  alone  ?  I  am  at  a  loss  to  knew,  sir,  what  you 
can  have  to  say  that  requires  such  a  condition.** 

"You  shall  know.  Mistress  Wade;  if,  indeed,  you  have  not  di- 
vined my  purpose  already.    Need  I  tell  you  that  I  am  in  love  ?  ** 

"  And  why,  sir,  have  you  chosen  me  for  this  confidence  ?  I  should 
think  that  was  a  secret  to  be  communicated  only  to  her  whom  it  con- 
cerns.*' 

"  And  to  her  alone  has  it  been  communicated  Siurely  I  need  not 
osme  the  object  of  my  love.    You  cannot  have  been  blind  to  emotiosf 


170 


BOABTHB  BSUECTTED. 


»-4o  BufTerings —  I  jdtsve  been  unable  to  conceal.  I  can  be  sflent  rm 
longer.  0,  Marion  Wade  !  I  love  you  with  all  the  fondness  of  ■ 
true  affection — ^all  the  fervor  of  an  admiration  that  knows  no  limits. 
Do  not  be  angry  with  me  for  thus  declaring  myself.  Do  not  frown 
opon  my  suit.    0,  beautiful  Marion !    Say  that  I  may  hope  ? " 

Scarthe  had  dashed  his  helmet  to  the    ground,  and  flung  himsell 
Uk  his  knees  in  the  attitude  of  an  humble  suppliant. 
With  eyes  upturned  to  her  face,  he  tremblingly  awaited  the  reply 
She  was  silent. 

Her  features  betrayed  no  sign  of  gladness  as  she  listened  to  that 
lamest  declaration. 
Scarce  even  did  they  show  surprise. 

Whatever  of  this  she  may  have  felt  was  concealed  under  the  cloud 
9f  chagrin,  that,  springing  from  a  very  different  cause,  still  overspread 
Aer  countenance. 

The  kneeling  suitor  waited  some  moments  for  a  response ;  bat  nono 
was  given. 
She  to  whom  he  was  making  suit  remained  proudly  silent. 
Becoming  sensible  of  a  certain  ludicrousness  in  the  situation, 
Sctrthe  impatiently  continued : — 

*'  Oh,  do  not  deny  me !  at  least  vouchsafe  an  answer.  If  it  be  fa- 
vorable, I  promise — I  swear — that  my  heart — ^my  hand — ^my  soul— • 
my  sword — my  life — all  will  be  yours — ^yours  for  any  sacrifice  you 
may  summon  me  to  make.  0  Marion !  beautiful  Marion  Wade !  I 
know  I  am  not  worthy  of  you  now.  Think  not  of  me  as  I  am ;  but 
rather  what  I  shall  be.  I  may  one  day  be  more  deserving  of  your 
esteem — perhaps  your  love.  I  have  hopes  of  preferment — high  hopes. 
I  may  be  excused  for  saying  they  are  founded  on  the  patronage  of 
a  quet^n.  With  one  like  you  for  my  bride — ^my  wife — highborn, 
gifted,  lovelier  than  all  others,  these  hopes  would  soon  be  realized. 
To  be  worthy  of  loving  you — ^to  have  the  pleasure  of  illustrating  you 
— of  making  you  happy  by  the  highest  famo— I  could  accomplish 
anything.  Fear  not,  Marion  Wade.  He  who  sues  to  you,  if  now 
humble,  may  hope  for  higher  rank.  Ere  long  shall  I  obtain  the 
uu'^h-coveted  title  of  lord.  It  matters  little  to  me.  Only  for  your 
sake  should  I  prize  it.  But  on !  hapless  lord  should  I  be,  if  not  the 
lord  of  your  heart !  A  word,  Marion  Wade !  one  word !  Tell  mm 
I  may  hope  ? " 
Marion  turned  her  eyes  npon  the  eloquent  suppliant, 
pis  attitude,  tho  expression  of  his  countenance,  and  Hm  finrfol 


60ART1IE  REJfiOTED. 


371 


ione  in  which  he  had  declared  himselC  were  evidence  that  h<  WM  in 
earnest. 

She  could  not  fail  to  perceive  that  he  loved  her. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  deceit  of  his  nature  in  other  respects, 
there  could  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  honest  in  his  admiratiou  for  her- 
self. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  thought  that  restrained  her  from  making  an 
faidignant  reply. 

Why  should  she  be  offended  at  one  thus  humbly  sueing,  one  who 
was  willing  to  become  her  slave  ? 

The  expression  of  her  eye,  called  up  by  the  attitude  of  the  suitor, 
■eemed  to  speak  of  pity  rather  than  indignation. 

It  soon  passed  away :  and  was  succeeded  by  the  same  cahn  look  of 
indifference,  with  which  she  had  hitherto  regarded  him. 

Misinterpreting  that  momentary  glance  of  kindness,  Scarthe  for  an 
instant  fancied  himself  successful. 

Only  for  an  instant. 

His  heart  fell  as  he  noted  the  change  of  countenance  that  succeed- 
ed; and  it  needed  not  for  Marion  to  signify  her  refusal  in  speech. 

Words  could  not  have  more  plainly  told  him  that  his  suit  was  re- 
jected. 

In  words,  however,  he  was  told  it ;  and  with  a  laconism  that  left 

jtlm  no  alternative,  but  to  rise  from  his  kneeling  attitude,  place  hia 

Lelmet  once  more  upon  his  head,  and  bid  Marion  Wade  good  mom- 

ing. 

•  ••••• 

Alone  the  lady  pursued  her  homeward  way — Scarthe  standing 
silent  and  statue-like,  till  she  had  passed  out  of  sight.  Then  his 
features  suddenly  changed  expression ;  his  true  temper,  for  the  time 
restrained,  escaped  from  the  control  in  which  he  had  been  keeping 
it ;  and  both  voice  and  gesture  testified  to  the  terrible  conflict  of  emo* 
iions  that  convulsed  his  soul. 

"  I  shall  seek  no  more  to  sue  her,"  mutterred  he,  as  he  detached 
bis  bridle  from  the  branch.  "  *Tis  not  the  mode  to  deal  with  this 
proud  damsel.  Force,  not  favor,  is  the  way  to  win  her — at  least  her 
hand — ah !  and  maybe  her  heart  ?  I  Ve  known  sech  as  she  before. 
Are  there  not  hundreds  in  history  ?  Did  the  Sabine  women  continue 
to  despise  their  bold  abductors  ?  No ;  they  became  loving  wives 
loving  them  for  the  very  act,  that,  in  the  fancy  of  fools,  should  have 
excited  their  hMred  !    By  Heaven  !    I  shall   imitate  those  Bomas 


J73  filft  MARMADTJKB  IK  TBOXJiSLS. 

ravishers  —if  driven  to  the  dernier  ressort.  Thank  fortune !  there'l 
another  arrow  in  my  quiyer.  And  now  to  place  it  to  the  string.  Bj 
this  time  Sir  Marmaduke  should  be  stirring ;  though  it  seems  h« 
keeps  not  so  early  hours  as  his  charming  child !  Curses )  what  can 
have  carried  her  abroad  ?  No  doubt,  I  shall  discover  in  time  i  and  ii 
it  be  that » 

He  interrupted  himself,  as  if  some  conception,  painful  beyond  cotq- 
mon,  had  caused  a  sudden  suspension  of  his  b^^^ath. 

•*  If  it  be  that — a  mistress,  instead  of  a  wife — shall  I  make  of 
Marion  Wade !  " 

With  this  vile  threat,  he  sprang  nervously  to  th  •  back  of  his  horse , 
•nd,  deeply  driving  the  spurs,  forced  the  animal  Uito  a  rapid  gallop, 
homeward  against  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  LVn. 


BtSL  KABMADT7UI  UT  TBOUBLB. 


Sir  Marmaduke  was  in  his  library — ^not  busied  wit\  V*^  I  <k>Wh,  In' 
his  thoughts. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  these  were  of  serious  natnre.  They 
were  more  than  serious — they  were  melanchoUy.  The  cause  has 
been  already,  or  may  be  easily,  gnessed. 

In  the  circumstances  that  surrounded  him,  the  noble  knight  Imd 
more  than  one  source  of  anxiety.  But  there  was  one  now  paia- 
raount — an  apprehension  for  his  own  personal  safety — which,  o. 
course,  included  the  welfare  of  those  dear  to  him. 

He  had  reason  to  be  thus  apprehensive.  He  knew  that  he  had 
committed  himself — not  only  by  his  presence  among  the  con/iipiratort 
of  Stone  Dean,  but  by  various  other  acta  *hat  would  not  bear  1^ 
scratiny  of  the  Star  Chamber. 


87a 

Conjectures,  referring  to  the  midnight  meeting  at  IToUsi)iir^i 
house,  were  at  that  moment  more  particularly  before  his  mind. 

The  arrest  of  Holtspiu*  himself  upon  the  following  morning-  -«j 
close  upon  the  breaking  up  of  the  assemblage — had  an  ominous  sig 
nificance. 

It  suggested — in  fiict,  almost  proclaimed — the  presence  of  a  spy. 

If  such  had  been  among  them— and  Sir  Marmaduke  could  come  to 
no  other  conclusion — then  would  his  hfe  be  worth  no  more  than  that 
of  a  man  already  attainted,  tried,  condemned,  and  standing  by  the 
side  of  the  block  ! 

If  there  had  been  a  spy,  it  must  either  have  been  Scarthe  himself, 
or  one  who  had  commimicated  with  him :  else  why  Hie  arrest  ol 
Holtspur  ? 

Sir  Marmaduke  belieyed  the  captain  of  the  king*8  cuirrassiera 
quite  capable  of  the  infamous  act. 

His  apparent  friendship  and  courtesy — ^his  professions  of  regret  for 
the  part  he  was  compelled  to  play — had  not  deceived  his  host. 

Sir  Marmaduke  had  no  difficulty  in  detecting  the  spurious  preten- 
ses of  his  guest. 

As  yet  Scarthe  had  given  him  no  hint  of  the  knowledge  he  pos- 


For  his  own  reasons,  he  had  carefully  abstained  from  this. 

Nevertheless,  Sir  Marmaduke  had  his  suspicions. 

Unfortunately,  he  had  no  means  of  satisfying  them,  one  way  or 
the  other. 

Scarthe  had  carefully  scrutinized  his  correspondence — under  the 
pretense  that  he  did  so  by  orders  from  the  king — and  such  of  the 
members  of  that  meeting  as  Sir  Marmaduke  had  been  able  to  see 
personally  were,  Uke  himself,  only  suspicious. 

No  one  in  the  neighborhood  knew  of  the  doings  of  that  night,  ex- 
cept Dancey,  Walford,  and  Gregory  Garth. 

Dancey  and  his  daughter  had  both  been  absent  for  weeks — it  was 
not  known  inhere ;  Walford  had  no  dealings  with  Sir  Marmaduk« 
Wade ;  and  Garth  was  utterly  unknown  to  him 

The  knight  knew  that  his  liberty — ^his  life — were  in  the  scales. 

A  feather — a  breath — and  the  beam  might  be  kicked  against 
him. 

No  wonder  he  was  apprehensive— even  to  wretchedness. 

There  was  but  one  clear  spot  in  the  ^&y — one  beacon  on  which  Ic 
fix  his  hopes — ^the  Parliament, 


374  SIJR  MAEMADtJKB  m  TttOUBLB. 

This  parliament — afterwards  distinguished  as  the  "  Long,'*  pef 
haps  the  most  patriotic  assembly  that  ever  met  amongst  men~wK 
about  to  commence  its  sittings,  as  well  as  its  struggles  with  the  hoar^ 
hydra  £>f  royal  prerogative. 

To  the  oppressed  it  promised  relief— to  the  condemned  a  respite- 
to  the  imprisoned  a  restoration  of  their  liberty. 

But  the  royal  reptile,  though  cowering  and  partially  crushed,  had 
not  yet  been  deprived  of  his  fangs. 

There  were  places  throughout  the  realm  where  his  power  was 
rampant  as  ever — where  he  could  still  seize,  confiscate  and  be- 
head. 

With  reason,  therefore,  might  Sir  Marmaduke  feel  dread  of  hi* 
vengeance. 

And  no  wonder :  with  Sir  John  Elliot  pining  away  his  life  in  fc 
prison;  with  the  wrongs  of  Lenthall,  and  Lilburne,  and  Prynne 
unarenged;  with  men  walking  the  streets  deprived  of  their  ears,  aiid 
Dutraged  by  other  mutilations;  with  Holtspur  himself,  whom  Sir 

Marmaduke  now  knew  to  be  the  noble  patriot  Henry ,  an 

outlawed  fugitive,  hiding  himself  from  the  sleuth-hounds  of  a  spited 
queen ! 

The   good   knight   resembled   the  mariner  in  the  midst  of  m 


The  re-summoned  Parliament  was  the  life-boat  struggling  across 
the  surge — surrounded  by  angry  breakers. 

Would  it  live  to  reach  and  relieve  him  ? 

Or  was  he  destined  to  see  it  strike  upon  a  rock,  and  its  gallant 
crew  washed  away  amidst  the  waste  of  waters  ? 

In  truth,  a  gallant  crew  as  ever  carried  ship  of  State  through  tho 
storm — as  ever  landed  one  in  a  haven  of  safety. 

Hark  to  their  names — every  one  of  them  a  household  word ! 

Pym,  Hampden,  Hollis  and  Hazlerig;  the  Lords  Kimbolton, 
Essex,  and  Fairfax;  and  last  and  greatest,  the  inmiortal  03ver 
Cromwell ! 

It  was  a  glorious  galaxy  of  names — enough  to  mspire  even  the 
timid  with  confidence;  and  by  such  were  the  timid  sustained. 

In  the  retrospect  of  two  hundred  years,  alongside  such  names,  hoW 
iounds  the  paltry  title  of  "  Carolus  Rex  ?  " 

Even  then,  it  was  day  by  day  losing  its  authoritative  significanca 

A  crisis  was  coming,  as  when  men  awake  from  a  drunken  dream— 
when  the  word  "  loyalty "  only  reminds  them  of  liberties  surrey 


tn 

kitioasly  stolen,  and  rights  toe  slackly  surrendered ;  when  "king* 
Bounds  synonymous  with  "tyrant,"  and  "patriot"  assumes  itf 
proper  meaning. 

Not  as  the  so-called  "statesmen"  of  the  present  day— statesmen, 
forsooth ! 

Palterers  with  the  people's  rights,  snug  trimmers  of  parliamentary 
majorities,  bottle-holders,  the  very  chicanes  of  statescraft — ^the 
"smush"  of  England's  manhood,  with  reputations  destined  to 
damnation,  almost  as  soon  as  their  puny  breath  becomes  choked 
within  their  inglorious  coffins ! 

Oh !  the  contrast  between  that  day  and  this — ^the  difference  of  ita 
deeds  and  its  men ! — distinct  as  glory  from  shame ! 

That  was  the  grandest  throe  ever  felt  by  England's  heart  in  iti 
aspirations  after  Liberty. 

Let  us  hope  it  will  not  be  the  last. 

Let  us  hope  that  the  boasted  spirit  of  Great  Britain — at  this  hour 
lower  than  it  has  ever  been — ^will  have  a  speedy  resuscitation ;  and 
strike  to  the  dust  the  demon  of  thraldom,  in  whatever  form  he  may 
make  himself  manifest — ^in  the  old-fashioned  shape  of  serfdomj  or  its 
modern  substitute,  the  tax;  for,  though  differing  in  title,  6o^A  art 
essentially  the  same, 

•  ••••••• 

Sir  Marmaduke  sat  m  his  library,  as  we  have  said,  a  prey  to  uneasy 
thoughts. 

They  were  not  tranquilized  by  the  announcement,  just  then  made 
by  one  of  the  domestics,  that  Captain  Scarthe  desired  an  interview 
with  him. 

"  What  business  has  he  now  ?  "  was  the  mental  interrogatory  of 
the  knight,  when  the  request  was  conveyed  to  him. 

"Something  of  more  than  ordinary  import,"  thought  he  on  glanc- 
ing at  the  countenance  of  Scarthe,  as  the  latter  presented  himself 
within  the  apartment. 

Well  might  Sir  Marmaduke  give  thought  to  the  conjecture ;  for,  in 
truth,  was  there  upon  the  mind  of  his  visitor  something  that  might 
well  merit  the  name  of  extraordinary ;  which,  despite  his  habitual 
tangfroidy  did  not  fail  to  show  itself  upon  his  features. 

Upon  them  a  guilty  intention  was  plainly  expressed,  as  if  the  linaf 
tad  been  letters  on  the  page  of  a  printed  book. 

The  knight  knew  not  this  intention  by  any  overture  hitherto  made 
tohim 


876 

Me  had  his  suspicions,  nerertheless,  too  truly  pointing  to  the  pre- 
tentions which  Scarthe  was  about  to  put  forward  to  the  hand  of  hii 
daughter. 

These  had  been  sufficiently  painful  to  him ;  now  more  so,  when 
coupled  with  that  other  suspicion,  already  harassing  him,  as  to  th« 
power  possessed  by  his  soldier  guest. 

They  might  have  been  even  more  painful,  had  he  known  the  extent 
of  that  power — ^real  and  assumed — with  which  the  latter  was  en- 
dowed. 

At  that  moment  Scarthe  carried  in  his  pocket,  signed  "  Oarolus 
Rex,"  an  order  for  the  knight's  arrest  and  commitment  to  the  Tower 
of  London ! 

It  signified  little  that  both  the  order  and  its  signature  were 
counterfeits.  They  would  be  equally  efficacious  for  the  purpose 
intended. 

Sir  Marmaduke  had  not  the  means,  nor  would  he  be  allowed  the 
opportunity  to  test  their  genuineness. 

They  were  forgeries  both. 

It  was  in  concocting  them  that  Captain  Scarthe  had  spent  the  hali 
hour  between  the  time  of  his  parting  with  Marion  Wade  and  betaking 
himself  into  the  presence  of  her  father. 

Before  Sir  Marmaduke  he  now  stood,  prepared  for  an  emergency 
he  had  already  contemplated — ready  for  its  extremest  measures. 

"Pardon  me.  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade ! "  began  he,  bowing  with 
ceremonious  respect.  "  Pardon  me  for  intruding  upon  you  at  this 
early  hour;  but  my  business  is  of  importance.  When  you  have 
heard  it,  you  will  no  doubt  excuse  this  deviation  from  the  rules  of 
etiquette." 

"  Captain  Scarthe  is,  I  presume,  on  the  performance  of  some  duty, 
and  that  will  be  his  excuse." 

"  In  truth.  Sir  Marmaduke,  I  have  a  double  errand.  One  is  on 
duty — and  I  grieve  to  say,  a  painful  duty  to  me.  The  other  I  might 
designate  an  errand  of  affection ;  and  could  I  flatter  myself  that  it 
would  prove  a  welcome  one  to  you,  I  should  deem  it  as  pleasant  as 
that  of  my  duty  is  painful." 

"  You  speak  in  enigmas,  sir.  I  cannot  compiihend  them.  May  I 
ask  you  to  t«ll  me,  in  plain  speech,  what  are  your  two  errands? 
One,  you  say,  is  painful  to  yourself— the  other,  on  certain  conditiona, 
may  piove  pleasant.  Choose  which  you  please  to  communicate 
firit." 


m 

"Sir  Mannaduke  Wade,"  rejoined  the  cuirassier  captain,  *  yoy 
ftocuse  me  of  circumlocution.  It  is  an  accusation  I  will  not  give  yov 
cause  to  repeat.  My  first  errand — and  that  to  me  ol  most  import- 
ance— is  to  tell  you  I  love  your  daughter,  and  that  I  wish  to  make 
her  my  wife." 

"  I  admire  your  candor,  Captain  Scarth« ;  but  permit  me  to  say  in 
feply  that  the  information  you  have  thus  volunteered  concerns  my 
daughter  more  than  myself.  You  are  free  to  impart  it  to  her ;  as  ia 
Bhe  to  answer  you  according  to  her  incUnation." 

"  I  have  imparted  it,    I  have  already  proposed  to  her.** 

**  And  her  answer  ?  " 

«  A  refusal." 

**  And  you  come  to  me !    For  what  purpose.  Captain  Scarthe  /  " 

**  Need  I  declare  it,  Sir  Marmaduke  ?  I  love  your  daughter  with 
all  the  love  of  my  heart.  I  would  wed  her — make  her  happy — in 
time,  perhaps,  high  and  noble  as  any  in  the  land.  I  know  that  I 
offer  myself  under  unfavorable  circumstances.  But  witk  your  as- 
sistance. Sir  Marmaduke — your  authority  exerted  over  her " 

"You  need  not  go  on,  sir,"  said  Sir  Marmaduke,  interi  ipting  the 
petitioner  in  a  calm,  firm  tone.  "  Whatever  answer  my  daughter 
has  given  you  shall  be  mine.  You  speak  of  my  authority.  I  have 
none  in  such  a  matter  as  this.  The  father  has  no  right  to  restrain, 
or  thwart,  the  inclinations  of  his  child.  I  have  never  assumed  such 
a  power;  nor  shall  I  now — either  in  your  favox*  «»r  against  you.  If 
you  have  won  the  heart  of  Marion  Wade,  yoi.  are  welcome  to  wear 
it — welcome  both  to  her  heart  and  hand.  If  not,  you  need  not  look 
to  me.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  my  daughter  is  free  to  accept 
whomsoever  she  may  please,  or  reject  whoDi  she  may  dislike.  Now, 
tir!  "  added  the  knight,  in  a  tone  that  told  of  stern  determination, 
"that  matter  is  ended  between  us — I  hopo  to  your  satisfaction." 

"  Enough !  "  ejaculated  Scarthe,  his  voice  betraying  indignant 
chagrin.  "  *Tis  just  as  I  expected,"  he  muttered  to  himself.  "  It 
will  be  idle  to  urge  the  matter  any  more— at  least  until  I've  got  my 
lever  on  its  fulcrum ;  then,  perhaps " 

"  May  I  beg  of  you  to  make  known  your  other  errand,  sir,"  said 
Sir  Marmaduke,  impatient  to  bring  the  unpleasant  interview  to  a 
termination,  "  that  which  you  say  is  of  a  painful  lature .''  " 

"I  say  it  with  truth,"  rejoined  Scarthe,  still  keeping  up  a  show  of 
Byropathy  for  his  victim.  Perhaps  you  will  not  give  me  credit  fo? 
tLi  declaration,  though  ?  pledge  my  honor— as  a  gentleman  holding 


5T8  glB  MABMADUKB   IN  TEOTTBLBL 

the  commission  of  the  king — that  a  more  unpleasant  duty,  ib«t 
thai  which  w  now  before  me,  I  have  never  been  called  upon  to 
perform. 

"  When  you  condescend  to  make  it  known,  sir,  perhaps  I  shall  be 
the  better  able  to  judge.     Oan  I  assist  you  in  any  way  ?  ** 

**^0h.  Sir  Marmaduke— noble  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade — ^I  wish  it 
were  in  my  power  to  assist  you." 

"Ha!" 

'  ^Vlas !  But  a  short  month  and  I  could  with  indifTerence  havt 
enacted  the  part  I  am  now  called  upon  to  play.  Then  I  knew  yon 
not.  I  knew  not  your  daughter.  Oh !  that  I  had  never  known  one 
or  the  other — neither  the  noble  father,  nor  the " 

"  Sir !  "  interrupted  Sir  Marmaduke,  sternly,  "  I  beg  you  will 
oome  to  the  point.  What  is  this  disagreeable  communication  you 
would  make  f    You  surprise  and  puzzle  me.** 

"  I  cannot  declare  it  with  my  own  lips.  Noble  knight !  excuse  me 
from  giving  speech  to  it.  Here  are  my  orders — too  plain — ^too  per- 
emptory.    Read  them  for  yourself!** 

Sir  Marmaduke  took  hold  of  the  paper,  extended  to  him  apparently 
with  a  trembling  hand. 

The  hand  trembled  that  received  it. 

He  read : — 

"  7b  ye  Captain  Scartht,  commanding  y»  cuiraaiierB  ai  Bvl$irodi 
Park, 

"  It  hath  come  to  ye  knowledge  of  his  Majestic  that  Sir  3farmaduk§ 
fVadCy  Knight y  hath  been  guilty  of  treasonable  practices  and  design* 
against  his  Majestie  and  ye  government.  Therefore  Captain  Scarths 
is  hereby  commanded  to  arrest  ye  said  Sir  Marmaduke^  and  convey  him 
to  ye  Tower  prison^  there  to  await  trial  by  Star  Chamber^  or  aveh 
aDter  Court  as  may  be  deemed  sufficient  for  ye  crime  charged 

"  jlnd  Captain  Scarthe  is  moreover  enjoined  and  commanded  by  hU 
^Icjestie  to  lose  no  time  in  carrying  out  ye  said  command  of  hia 
Majestie,  but  i]uU  he  proceed  to  its  execution  on  ys  receipt  of  theaa 
presents 

*f  Owen  at  our  palace^  Whitehall. 

"Oabolus  Rbi." 

•*I  am  your  prisoner,  theix/'  ^aid  Sir  Marmaduke,  folding  up  the 
paper  and  returning  it  to  the  cuira  <  ier  captain. 


S7I 

••Not  mine,  Sir  Marmadiike.    Alas  !  not  mine,  but  the  kiig's." 

«  And  where  am  I  to  be  taken  ?  But  I  forget.  I  need  not  haTt 
asked." 

'*  The  place  is  mentioned  in  the  dispatch." 

••The  time,  too!" 

••  I  regret  it  is  so,"  rejoined  Scarthe,  with  a  pretense  of  being 
pained  in  the  performance  of  his  duty.  "  By  this  document,  yoc 
will  perceiye  that  my  orders  are  peremptory." 

**  I  presume  I  shall  be  permitted  to  take  leaye  of  my  family." 

**  It  grieyes  me  to  the  heart,  Sir  Marmaduke,  to  inform  you  that 
my  instructions  are  painfully  stringent.  Eyen  that  has  been  made  a 
part  of  them." 

••  Then  I  am  not  to  bid  farewell  to  my  children,  before  parting  with 
them — ^perhaps  foreyer?" 

"Do  not  talk  thus,  sir,"  said  Scarthe,  with  a  show  of  profound 
ffympathy.  "  There  must  be  a  misunderstanding.  Some  enemy  has 
been  abusing  you  to  the  ear  of  the  king.  Let  us  hope  it  will  be 
nothing  serious  in  the  end.  I  wish  it  were  otherwise ;  but  I  am  in- 
structed in  a  confidential  dispatch — that,  after  making  known  the 
order  for  your  arrest,  I  am  not  to  permit  any  communication  between 
you  and  your  friends — eyen  the  members  of  your  family — excq>t  in 
my  presence." 

"  In  your  presence  be  our  parting,  then.  Can  I  summon  my 
children  hither  ? " 

**  Certainly,  Sir  Marmaduke.  Alas !  alas !  that  I  am  compelled  to 
be  the  witness  of  such  a  sad  spectacle." 

•  •  •  •  »  •  •• 

Scarthe  truly  characterized  the  scene  that  followed  by  calling  it  • 
•ad  spectacle.  Such  it  was — too  sad  to  be  described :  the  cuiras- 
•ier  captain  appearing  as  much  affected  as  any  of  those  who  assisted 
stH. 

In  an  hour  after.  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade— in  the  custody  of  a 
cuirassier  guard — might  haye  been  seen  passing  out  of  Bulstrode 
Park,  on  his  way  to  that  famous,  or  rather  infamous,  receptacle  of 
political  priaoners— tb«  Tower  of  London. 


8m  THB  TBIAL. 


CHAPTER  LVra. 


TH>  TBIAL. 


In  less  than  a  week  from  this  time,  Sir  MArmaduke  Wade  Itoo^ 
fai  the  presence  of  the  Star  Chamber — that  Court  which  for  long 
years  had  been  the  dread — less  of  criminals,  than  of  innocent 
men. 

When  accuser  and  judge  are  one  and  the  same  person,  condemna- 
tion is  sure  to  follow.  In  Sir  Marmaduke's  case  the  accuser  was  the 
king  himself  The  Star  Chamber  was  a  mere  mask,  a  means  of 
carrying  out  his  arbitrary  acts  while  screening  him  from  their 
responsibility. 

The  trial  was  as  much  a  farce  as  if  it  had  been  held  before  a  con- 
clave of  the  Holy  Inquisition.  Indeed,  both  Star  Chamber  and 
High  Commission  Court  bore  a  close  resemblance  to  that  terrible 
tribunal ;  and  like  the  latter,  however  farcical  might  be  the  form  of 
the  trials,  they  had  too  often  a  tragical  ending. 

Sir  Marmaduke's  trial,  like  many  others  of  the  time,  was  a  mock< 
•ry  of  justice — a  mere  formality  to  satisfy  the  slight  remnants  of 
liberty  that  still  lingered  in  the  constitution. 

The  court  had  already  doomed  him. 

It  needed  only  for  the  Star  Chamber  to  indorse  the  foregone 
decree ;  which  was  done  by  its  truculent  judges  without  any  delay, 
and  with  as  little  noise  or  ceremony. 

The  knight  was  accused  of  treason  towards  the  crown — of  con- 
spiring against  the  king. 

The  charge  was  proren;  and  the  criminal  was  condemned  to  death 
by  the  mode  in  use  against  political  offenders  of  the  time.  His  sen- 
tence was — to  be  beheaded  upon  the  block. 

He  was  not  even  confronted  with  his  accusers ;  and  knew  not  wh© 
they  were  who  bore  witness  against  him.  But  the  most  specific 
charge  brought  up — that  of  his  presence  and  speech  at  the  night 
meeting  at  Stone  Dean  left  him  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Richard 
Bcarthe  was  one  of  those  who  bore  witness  against  him. 

During  the  investigation,  the   accused  was   kept   in   completi 


THE  TRIAL.  881 

Ignorance,  both  of  the  witnesses  and  the  testimony  prtferred  against 
him. 

None  was  allowed  in  his  favor — ^no  advocate  was  permitted  to  plead 
for  him ;  and,  indeed,  long  before  his  trial  came  to  a  termination,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  as  to  the  result. 

It  was  scarce  a  shock  to  him  when  the  president  of  that  iniquitoui 
conclave  pronounced  in  mock  solemnity  the  sentence  of  death. 

But  it  was  a  terrible  shock  to  two  tender  hearts  when  his  son 
Walter,  hurrying  home  after  the  trial,  carried  the  melancholy  tidings 
to  the  mansion  of  Bulstrode,  soon  to  be  deprived  of  its  master. 

Never  was  the  hypocrisy  of  Richard  Scarthe  more  successfully 
exerted  than  in  that  sad  hour. 

The  children  of  his  victim  were  almost  deceived  into  a  belief  in  his 
friendship. 

So  sincere  did  his  expressions  of  sympathy  appear,  and  so  often 
repeated,  that  Walter  and  Lora  became  almost  disarmed  as  to  his 
treason;  and  even  Marion  wavered  in  her  suspicions  of  the  honesty 
of  this  accomplished  impostor. 

Could  Sir  Marmaduke  have  communicated  with  them,  there  would 
have  been  no  danger  of  such  a  deception. 

But  this  he  was  not  allowed  to  do. 

From  the  hour  of  his  arrest,  his  enemy  had  adopted  every  possiblt 
jrecaution  to  prevent  it. 

The  parting  with  his  children  had  taken  place  in  Scarthe's  pres- 
ence— where  no  word  could  be  spoken  unheard. 

Afterwards,  from  his  prison  in  the  Tower,  he  had  not  been  allowed 
to  hold  the  slightest  intercourse  with  the  outside  world — neither 
?>efore  his  trial  nor  after  it. 

Only  a  few  minutes  had  his  son  Walter  been  permitted  to  stay  in 
his  company ;  and  then  only  with  spies  and  jailors  standing  near 
and  listening  to  every  speech  that  passed  between  them. 

Sir  Marmaduke  had  not  even  found  opportunity  to  communicate  to 
his  son  the  suspicions  he  entertained:  that  the  man  who  was 
making  such  loud  protestations  of  sympathy  and  friendship  was 
not  only  his  enemy,  but  the  very  individual  who  had  denounced 
him. 

To  Walter,  and  Lora,  and  Marion,  all  this  remained  unknown.  II 
had  never  occurred  to  them  to  speculate  on  the  cause  of  Scarthe'a 
absence  from  the  mansion — during  the  two  days  of  the  trial. 

Little  did  they  suspect  that  the  double-tongued  villain — so  profusf 


THE  TRIAL. 

in  ezpressioKS  of  b/mpathy  and  condolence — during  tliat  faiterya\ 
had  been  himself  in  the  presence  of  the  Star  Chamber — ^secretl^ 
testifying  against  the  accused — ^freely  supplying  the  testimony  thai 
had  sealed  his  condemnation. 


On  the  morning  after  the  sad  intelligence  had  been  oonveyed  to  the 
inmates  of  Bulstrode  mansion,  Marion  Wade  was  in  her  chamber, 
the  Tictiia.  jf  a  double  sorrow. 

The  Spaniards  have  a  proverb,  "  One  nail  drives  out  another"  (tm 
davo  saca  otto  clavo),  intending  to  convey  by  this  homely  figure  that 
the  heart  cannot  contain  two  sorrows  at  the  same  time,  but  that  ont 
must  '^"^e  place  to  the  other. 

To  some  extent  is  this  proverb  true;  but,  like  most  others,  yield- 
ing to  certain  conditions. 

For  a  while  recent  sorrow,  overweighing  that  of  anterior  date,  may 
tend  to  its  alleviation.  If  it  be  greater,  it  may  conduct  to  its  cure; 
but  if  less,  the  old  grief  will  in  time  return,  and  again  resume  domin- 
ion over  the  throne  of  the  heart. 

Either  one  of  ^he  sorrows  from  which  Marion  suffered  was  enough 
to  have  occupied  ^er  heart,  to  the  exclusion  of  the  other ;  and  yet 
her  experience  confirmed  the  proverb  only  in  part. 

Long  after  listening  to  the  sad  tale  told  by  her  brother,  she  had 
brooded  over  the  misfortunes  of  her  much-loved  father,  and  the  fear- 
ful &te  that  awaited  him. 

But  love  is  stronger  than  filial  affection ;  and  there  were  intervals, 
during  which  her  anguish  for  a  parent  she  was  about  to  lose  was, 
perhaps,  less  intense  than  that  for  a  lover  she  had  already  lost ! 

Judge  her  not  harshly,  if,  in  the  mid«t  of  her  convulsive  grief, 
there  were  moments  when  her  mind  dwelt  upon  the  other  and  older 
sorrow. 

Judge  her  not  harshly,  but  as  you  would  yourself  be  judged ! 

She  was  not  alone.  Her  affectionate  cousin  was  by  her  side ;  and 
near  by,  her  fond  brother. 

They  had  passed  the  night  together — ^in  vain  endeavors  to  impart 
mutual  consolation. 

Their  cheeks  and  eyes  told  of  a  night  spent  in  sleeplessness  and 
tears. 

Spent  in  mutual  counsel,  too,  which  they  seemed  to  haye  exhausted 
as  was  testified  by  the  words  now  spoken  by  Walter. 

Marion  had  suggested  an  appeal  to  the  queen,  had  proposed  mtkiDf 
a  Joum^  to  London  for  this  purpose. 


THE  TBIAL. 


881 


•  I  fear  it  wai  be  of  no  use,"  rejoined  the  ex-couitier.  «*  I  fell 
npon  my  knees  before  her,  I  protested  our  father's  innocence,  I  en- 
treated her  with  tears  in  my  eyes  j  but  she  gave  me  no  hope.  On  tht 
contrary,  she  was  angry  with  me.  I  never  saw  her  so  before.  She 
•ven  insulted  me  with  vile  words :  called  me  the  cub  of  a  conspirator; 
while  Jermyn,  and  Holland,  and  others  of  the  young  lords  in  het 
company,  made  merry  at  my  expense.  The  king  I  dared  not  see. 
Ah,  sister ;  I  fear  even  you  would  meet  no  favor  among  that  court 
crew.  There  is  but  one  who  can  help  us ;  and  that  because  he  is  of 
their  kind.    You  know  who  I  mean,  Marion  ?  ** 

"  You  speak  of  Captain  Scar  the  ?  ** 

*«Ido." 

"Indeed,  it  is  true,"  interposed  Lora.  "You  know  he  has  mort 
than  once  thrown  out  hints  as  to  what  he  could  do  to  obtain  dear 
uncle's  freedom.  I  would  go  upon  my  knees  to  him  if  it  were  of  any 
use ;  but  you  know,  Marion,  one  word  from  you  would  be  worth  all 
the  entreaties  that  Walter  and  I  could  make.  Oh,  cousin,  let  us  not 
speak  in  riddles  at  such  a  time  as  this.    You  know  the  reason  ?  " 

"  Marion,"  said  Walter,  half  divining  Lora's  implied  meaning,  "  U 
this  man  speak  sincerely,  if  it  be  true  that  he  has  the  influence  he 
boasts  of,  and  I  have  heard  as  much  at  court,  then  there  may  be  • 
hope.  I  know  not  to  what  Lora  refers.  She  says  that  a  word  from 
you  may  accomplish  much.    Dear  sister,  is  it  a  sacrifice  ?  " 

"  You  have  styled  it  truly,  Walter,  in  caUing  it  a  sacrifice.  With- 
out that,  my  entreaties  would  be  vain  as  yours.    I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Say,  sister !    What  sacrifice  ?  " 

**  My  hand,  my  hand ! " 

"  Dear,  dear  Marion !    If  it  be  not  with  your  heart  you  cannot 
promise  it,  you  could  not  give  it." 
.    "  Without  such  promise,  I  know  he  would  deny  me.** 

"  The  wretch !  Oh,  heavens !  And  yet  it  is  our  father's  life,  ay, 
his  very  life !  ** 

'*  Would  it  were  mine ! "  exclaimed  Marion,  with  a  look  of  aban- 
doned anguish,  "  only  mine.  The  thought  of  death  would  be  easiei 
to  endure  than  the  sorrows  I  have  already." 

Walter  comprehended  not  the  meaning  of  her  wild  words- 

Lora  better  understood  their  import. 

Ndther  had  time  to  reflect  upon  them;  for,  on  the  instant  of  thei 
utterance,  Marion  rose  to  her  feet  and  walked  with  •  detennined  ai 
towards  the  door  of  the  apartment^ 


W4  THE  PAIB  8UPPLIAKT. 

"Where  are  you  going,  dear  cousin  ?  "  asked  Lora,  slightlj  fray«d 
ftt  Marion's  resolute  mien. 

"  To  Captain  Scarthe,"  was  the  firm  rejoinder.  "  To  fling  myself 
at  his  feet,  prostrate,  if  he  please  it^  to  ask  him  the  price  of  my 
other's  Ufe." 

Before  either  cousin  or  brother  could  interfere,  to  oppose  of 
•trengthen  her  resolution,  the  self-appointed  suppliant  had  pasied 
oat  of  tha  room. 


i 


OHAPTER  UX. 


turn  WAUL  suppLiAjrr. 


The  sentence  passed  upon  Sir  Marmadukehad  given  Scarthe  a  new 
■tring  to  his  bow;  and  the  crisis  had  now  arrived  for  testing  its 
strength. 

He  had  easily  obtained  the  knight's  condemnation. 

From  the  peculiar  interest  which  he  possessed  at  court,  he  knew 
or  believed,  that  with  equal  facility  he  could  procure  his  pardon. 

In  his  own  mind  he  had  resolved  upon  doing  this. 

On  certain  conditions  Marion  Wade  might  expect  a  prompt  answer 
lo  the  inquiry  she  was  about  to  make. 

It  was  already  determined  upon :  the  price  of  Sir  Marmaduke's 
life  would  be  the  hand  of  bis  daughter. 

Scarthe  did  not  design  addressing  his  re-iterated  proposal  to  the 
condemned  knight,  but  to  Marion  herself. 

His  former  appeal  to  the  father  had  been  met  with  a  refusal  so 
firm,  that  from  him  he  might  readily  apprehend  a  similar  response. 

True,  at  that  time  the  knight  was  only  threatened  with  danger. 
Now,  death  stared  hii^i  in  the  face — dsath  iaglorious,  even  ignomi^ 


THE  PAIR  8TJPPLIAHT.  88S 

The  prospect  could  not  fail  to  cause  fear  and  faltering;  and  an 
ordinary  man  should  be  only  too  fain  by  any  means  to  saye  himself 
from  such  a  fate. 

But  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade  was  not  one  of  this  stamp.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  was  just  the  type  of  those  antique  heroic  parents,  who  pre- 
fer death  to  the  sacrifice  of  a  daughter's  happiness. 

Scarthe  knew  it ;  and  believed  ic  quite  possible  that  the  conditions 
he  meant  to  offer  might  still  provoke  a  noble  and  negative  rejoinder. 

Although  he  had  not  determined  to  forego  the  chances  of  a  last 
appeal  to  the  condemned  prisoner,  this  was  only  to  be  made  in  case 
of  Marion's  rejection  of  his  terms. 

Filial  affection  was  first  to  be  put  upon  its  trial.  After  that  it 
would  be  time  to  test  the  parental. 

This  design  had  been  conceived  before  the  trial  of  Sir  Marmaduke 
— even  previous  to  his  imprisonment ;  for  it  was  but  a  sequence  of 
his  scheme;  and  he  who  concocted  it  had  only  been  waiting  for  the 
knight's  condemnation,  to  bring  matters  to  a  climax. 

Of  the  sentence  he  had  been  already  advised,  in  fact  knew  it  before 
leaving  London. 

Twenty-four  hours  sooner  he  could  have  communicated  the  intel- 
ligence to  those  whom  it  most  concerned;  but  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
he  had  preferred  leaving  it  to  reach  them  through  the  natural  channel 
— ^by  the  return  of  Walter  from  that  short,  sad  interview  with  his 
unfortunate  father. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  Walter  arrived  to  tell  the  melan- 
choly tale.  Perhaps  had  the  hour  been  earlier,  Scarthe  would  have 
intruded  upon  the  scene  of  sorrow — to  speak  his  sham  sympathy, 
and  mingle  his  hypocritical  tears  with  those  that  were  real. 

As  it  was,  he  only  expressed  himself  thus  by  deputy — sending  one 
of  the  domestics  with  a  message  of  condolence  and  reserving  his  in- 
terview with  Marion  for  the  morrow. 

It  was  his  design  to  see  her,  just  at  that  hour  when  it  might  be 
supposed  the  first  fresh  throes  of  her  sorrow  had  subsided,  and  his 
proffer  of  assistance  might  stand  a  better  chance  of  being  apprecia- 
ted. 

Ever  since  the  departure  of  the  prisoner  he  had  been  cunningly 
preparing  his  plans.  He  had  lost  no  opportunity  of  letting  it  be 
understood,  or  at  all  events  surmised,  that  he  possessed  the  power  to 
save. 

He  had  \mM  »*  great  si^irifices  that  would  accrue  to  himself  m 

n 


•86 


TEB  FAm  BUPPUAMT. 


the  exertion  of  this  power,  at  the  same  time  making  certain  famendoa, 
that  left  the  conditions  to  be  guessed  at. 

His  scheme  had  become  matured.  To-morrow  would  see  it  carried 
into  effect,  either  for  failure  or  success,  and  that  morrow  had  now 
arrived. 

On  the  eye  of  action  he  was  fiir  from  being  either  confident  oi 
tranquil. 

As  he  paced  the  large  drawing-room  of  the  mansion,  previous  U 
asking  an  interview  with  its  young  mistress,  his  steps  betrayed 
agitation.  His  glance  told  of  mingled  emotions — ^hope,  fear,  and 
shame :  for,  hardened  as  he  was,  he  could  not  contemplate  his  sinis- 
ter intent  without  some  slight  sense  of  abasement. 

Several  times  had  he  laid  his  hand  upen  the  bell,  to  summon 
some  one,  as  the  bearer  of  his  request ;  but  as  often  had  his  resolu- 
tion failed  him. 

"  By  Phoebus !  I'm  a  fool,"  he  exclaimed  at  length,  as  if  to  fortify 
his  courage  by  the  self-accusation :  "  and  a  coward,  too !  What 
have  I  to  fear  ?  She  cannot  refuse  me — with  her  father's  life  as  the 
forfeit  ?  She  would  be  false  to  filial  duty — affection — nature — every- 
thing. Bah  ?  I'll  dally  with  doubt  no  longer.  I'll  bring  it  to  a 
crisis  at  once !    Now  is  the  time  or  never ! " 

He  strode  back  to  the  table  on  which  stood  the  bell.  He  took  it 
np,  with  the  intention  of  ringing  it. 

The  sound  of  an  opening  door,  accompanied  by  the  rustling  o 
silken  robes,  caused  him  to  turn  round.    She  from  whom  he  was 
about  to  ask  an  interview,  stood  before  him. 

Scarthe  was  surprised — disconcerted — as  on«  detected  in  a  guilty 
action. 

He  fancied  his  visitor  had  divined  his  intent.  On  glancing  at  her 
coimtenance,  his  momentary  abashment  became  suddenly  changed 
to  a  feeling  of  triumph.    He  fancied  that  he  divined  hers. 

She  must  have  known  he  was  in  the  room;  else  why  did  she  not 
pause,  or  retire  ? 

On  the  contray,  she  was  approaching  him,  she  who  had  never  d«>nf 
io  before,  evidently  with  a  purpoue ! 

There  could  be  but  one,  to  ask  his  interceasion. 

This  forestalling  was  in  his  favor. 

It  gave  him  strength  and  confidence. 

It  gave  him  a  cue,  for  the  disclosure  he  meditated  making. 

•*  Mistress  Marion  !  "  said  he,  bowing  low,  **  you  have  saved  me 
Ihe  chagrin  of  intruding  upon  your  grief:  for,  in  truth,  I   had  u^ 


S87 

tended  soliciting  an  interview,  to  offer  my  poor  tiite  of  consolation." 

"  By  your  own  showing  sir,"  rejoined  she,  placing  heiself  m  • 
firm  yet  humble  attitude,  "  you  can  do  more.  If  I  mistake  not,  you 
have  spoken  of  your  influence  with  the  king  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  greater  with  the  king's  wife,"  replied  the  soldier, 
with  a  smile,  evidently  intended  to  make  a  peculiar  impression  on 
his  petitioner.  "  True,  fair  Marion ;  I  own  to  some  littl»  influence 
in  that  quarter.  'Tis  not  much ;  but,  such  as  it  be,  'tis  at  youl 
service." 

"Oh,  sir !  thank  you  for  these  words.  Say  you  will  exert  it,  to 
save  the  life  of  my  father !  Say  that ;  and  you  shall  win  the  grati- 
tude of— of " 

"  Marion  Wade  ? " 

"  More  than  mine — my  father — my  brother — our  kindred — ^per- 
haps our  country — will  all  be  grateful ;  will  bless  you  for  the   act." 

"  And  of  these  gratitudes,  the  only  one  I  should  in  the  least 
esteem  is  your  own,  beautiful  Marion.  That  will  be  suflRcient  re- 
compense for  me." 

"  Sir,  you  shall  have  it — to  the  very  depth  of  my  soul." 

** Say  rather  to  the  depth  of  your  heart" 

**  I  have  said  it.  You  shall  have  my  heart's  gratitude  now  and 
forever." 

"  Ah !  gratitude  is  but  a  cold  word.    Exchange  it  for  another." 

**  Another  I     What  mean  you,  sir  ?  " 

**  Say  your  love.  Give  me  but  that,  and  I  promise — I  swear,  by 
my  hopes  of  happiness  here  and  hereafter,  that  I  shall  not  rest,  till 
your  father's  pardon  be  obtamed ;  or  till  I,  by  my  unwelcome  inter- 
ference in  his  behalt,  be  sentenced  to  partake  of  his  prison  and  pun- 
ishment !  Oh,  Marion  Wade,  have  mercy  upon  me !  I,  not  you,  am 
the  suppliant  in  this  cause.  Give  me  what  I  have  asked ;  and  com- 
mand me  as  your  slave  ? " 

For  some  seconds  Marion  stood  without  making  reply. 

From  the  fervor  of  his  appeal,  and  the  silence  with  which  it  had 
been  received,  Scarthe  was  beginning  to  conceive  a  hope ;  and  kepi 
his  eyes  keenly  bent  upon  the  countenance  of  his  suitor. 

He  could  read  nothing  there. 

Not  a  thought  was  betrayed  by  those  beautiful  features — ^immof»< 
Die  as  though  chiseled  out  of  stone. 

When  she  at  length  spoke,  her  answer  told  him  that  he  had  m\s{» 
terpreted  her  silence. 


188 

"Captain  Scarthe,"  said  she,  "  you  are  a  man  of  the  WorldCom 

AS  I  have  heard,  skilled  in  the  thoughts  of  our  sex " 

"You  flatter  me,"  interrupted  he,  making  an  effort  to  recover  hia 
customary  coolness.  "  May  I  know  why  I  am  thus  complimented  ?  ** 
"  I  did  not  mean  it  in  that  sense.  Only  to  say,  that,  knowing  oui 
nature  as  you  do,  you  must  be  aware  that  what  you  ask  is  impossi- 
ble. Oh,  sir,  wom^ln  cannot  give  her  heart.  That  muat  he  taken 
from  her** 
"  And  yours,  Marion  Wade  ?  *' 

"  Is  not  in  my  power  to  give.    It  has  been  surrendered  already." 
•*  Surrendered !  "  cried  Scarthe,  with  an  angry  emphasis  on  the 
word ;  for  this  was  his  first  assurance  of  a  fact  that  had  long  formed 
the  theme  of  his  conjectures. 
**  Surrendered  you  say  ?  ** 

**  *Tis  too  true.    Stolen,  if  you  will,  but  stiH  surrendered !    *Tis 
broken  now,  and  cannot  be  restored.    0  sir !  you  would  not  value 
it,  if  offered  to  you.    Do  not  make  that  a  condition.    Accept  instead 
what  is  still  in  my  power  to  give— a  gratitude  that  shall  know  no 
end!" 
For  some  seconds  the  discomfited  wooer  neither  spoke  nor  moyed. 
What  he  had  heard  appeared  to  have  paralyzed  him. 
His  lips  were  white,  and  drawn  tightly  over  his  teeth,  with  an 
•xpression  of  half  indignation — half  chagrin. 

Skilled  as  he  certainly  was  in  woman's  heart,  he  had  heard  enough 
to  convince  him  that  he  could  never  win  that  of  Marion  Wade. 

Her  declaration  had  been  made  in  a  tone  too  serious,  too  sober  in 
its  style,  to  leave  him  the  vestige  of  a  hope. 
Her  heart  had  been  surely  surrendered. 
Strange  she  should  say  stolen ! 
Stranger  still  she  should  declare  it  to  be  broken ' 
Both  were  points  that  might  have  suggested  curious  speculations ; 
but  at  that  moment  Scarthe  was  not  in  the  vein  for  indulging  in  idle 
hypotheses. 

He  had  formed  the  resolution  to  possess  the  hand,  and  the  fortune 
of  Marion  Wade. 

If  she  could  not  give  her  heart,  ihe  could  give  these  as  compeii' 
sation  for  the  saving  of  her  father's  life. 

"Your  gratitude,"  said  he,  no  longer  speaking  in  a  strain  of  fervor^ 
but  with  an  air  of  piqued  formality,  "your  gratitude,  beautiful  Ma 
rk»iv  would  go  far  with  mo>    I  would  make  much  sacrifice  to  obt«i9 


389 

k;  but  there  is  something  you  can  bestow,  which  I  should  prist 
more.** 
-    Marion  looked—"  What  is  it  ?  ** 

"Your  hand." 

"  That  then  is  the  price  of  my  father's  life  ? " 

"Itis.'» 

"  Captain  Scarthe !  what  can  my  hand  be  worth  to  yon,  with- 
out   " 

"  Your  heart,  you  would  say?  I  must  live  in  hopes  to  win  that. 
Pair  Marion,  reflect !  A  woman's  heart  may  be  won  more  than 
once.** 

"  Only  once  can  it  be  lost.** 

"  Be  it  so.  I  must  bear  the  chagrin.  I  shall  bear  it  all  the  better, 
by  having  your  hand.  Marion  Wade !  I  scorn  further  circomlocu* 
tion.  Give  me  what  I  have  asked,  and  your  father  lives.  Refuse  it, 
and  he  must  forfeit  his  head." 

"  Oh,  sir,  have  pity !  Have  you  a  father  ?  Ah !  could  you  but 
feel  the  anguish  of  one  about  to  be  made  fatherless.  Mercy,  Captain 
Scarthe !  On  my  knees  I  ask  it.  0  sir!  you  can  save  him — you 
will?" 

While  speaking,  the  proud,  beautiful  woman  had  dropped  down 
upon  her  knees. 

Her  rich  golden  hair,  escaping  from  its  silken  coif,  swept  the  floor 
at  her  feet. 

Her  tear-drops  sparkled,  like  pearls,  among  its  profusion  of  tresses. 

For  a  second  Scarthe  remained  silent,  gazing  upon  the  lovely  sup- 
pliant, a  Venus  dissolved  in  tears. 

He  gazed  not  coldly;  though  his  cruel  thoughts  glowed  only  wi*h 
exultation. 

Marion  Wade  was  at  his  feet ! 

"I  can  save  him — I  will !  "  he  answered  emphatically,  echoing  her 
last  words. 

Marion  looked  up — ^hope  beaming  in  her  tear-bedewed  eyes. 

The  sweet  thought  was  stifled  on  the  instant. 

The  cynical  glance,  meeting  hers,  told  her  that  Scarthe  had  not 
fluished  his  speech. 

"  Yes,"  he  triumphantly  continued,  "  I  have  said  that  I  can,  and 
will.  It  needs  but  one  word  from  you.  Promise  that  you  will  bt 
mine?" 

"  0  God !  has  this  man  no  mercy  ?  *'  muttered  the  maiden,  as  8h0> 
roM  despakingly  to  her  toti. 


890  THE  FAIR   Sm^PLIANT. 

The  speech  was  not  intended  to  be  heard ;  but  it 

Inyoluntarily  had  it  been  uttered  aloud. 

It  elicited  an  instant  reply. 

**  There  is  no  mercy  in  love — ^when  scorned,  as  you  hare  scorned 
mine." 

"I  have  not  scorned  it.    You  ask  what  is  impossible.** 

"No,"  suddenly  rejoined  Scarthe,  conceiving  a  hope  from  the 
gentle  character  of  the  reply.  'Tis  not  impossible.  I  expect  not 
the  firstlings  of  your  heart.  Alas !  for  me,  they  are  gone.  I  can 
scarce  hope  for  even  a  second  love;  though  I  should  do  everything 
within  the  power  of  man  to  deserve  it.  All  I  ask  for  is  the  oppor- 
tunity to  win  you,  by  making  you  my  wife.  0,  Marion  Wade !  "  he 
continued,  adopting  a  more  fervent  form  of  speech,  "you  have  met  a 
man — never  before  gainsayed — one  who  has  never  wooed  woman  in 
vain— even  when  wearing  a  crown  upon  her  brow.  One,  too,  who 
will  not  be  thwarted.  Heaven  and  earth  shall  not  turn  me  from  my 
intent.  Say  you  will  be  mine,  and  all  will  be  well.  Reflect  upon  the 
fearful  issue  that  must  follow  your  refusal.  I  await  your  answer. 
Is  it  yes,  or  no  ?  " 

Having  thus  delivered  himself,  the  impetuous  lover  commenced 
pacing  to  and  fro — as  if  to  allow  time  for  the  reply. 

Marion,  on  rising  from  her  suppliant  attitude,  had  withdrawn  to 
the  window. 

She  stood  within  its  embayment — her  back  turned  towards  that 
dark  type  of  humanity — her  eyes  upon  the  blue  heaven ;  as  if  there 
seeking  inspiration. 

Was  she  hesitating  as  to  her  answer  ? 

Was  she  wavering  between  her  father's  life  and  her  own  happiness 
—or  rather,  might  it  be  said,  her  life-long  misery  ? 

Did  the  thought  cross  her  mind,  that  her  unhappiness,  springing 
from  the  defection,  the  deception  of  her  lost  lover,  could  scarce  be 
nicreased  either  in  amount  or  intensity ;  and  that  the  sacrifice  she  was 
now  called  upon  to  make  could  add  but  little  to  a  misery  already  at 
its  maximiun. 

Whether  or  not  may  never  be  revealed. 

Marion  Wade  can  alone  disclose  the  thoughts  that  struggled  within 
her  soul  at  that  critical  moment. 

Scarthe  continued  to  pace  the  floor,  impatiently  awaiting  hei 
decision. 

Not  that  he  wished  it  to  be  given  on  the  instant;  for  he  believtid 
that  delay  would  favor  him. 


A  OHAUQE  OF  QUARTEE8.  *•! 

A  sadden  answer  might  be  a  negative,  springing  from  passion, 
while  fear  for  her  father's  fate,  strengthened  by  reflection,  might 
influence  her  to  agree  to  his  proposal. 

At  length  camo  the  answer,  or  what  Scarthe  was  compelled  to 
accept  as  one. 

It  came  not  in  words ;  but  in  a  cry,  at  once  joyous  and  triura<> 
phaut. 

Simultaneous  with  its  utterance,  Marion  Wade  extended  her  arms ; 
and«  flinging  open  the  casement,  rushed  out  into  the  yerandah. 


OHAPTSBLX 


▲  ORAVOB  OF  QVAimft. 


Scarthe  stood  for  a  moment  astounded— Btiqdflad. 

Had  Marion  Wade  gone  mad  ? 

Her  singular  behavior  seemed  to  say  so. 

But  no. 

There  appeared  to  be  method  in  the  movement  she  had  made. 

As  she  glided  through  the  open  casement,  he  had  observed  that  hef 
eye  was  fixed  upon  something  outside — something  that  must  have  influ* 
enced  her  to  the  making  of  that  unexpected  exit. 

On  recovering  from  his  surprise,  the  cuirassier  captain  hastened 
towards  the  window;  but,  before  reaching  it  he  heard  sounds  with- 
out, conducting  him  to  alarming  conjectures. 

They  might  have  been  unintelligible,  but  for  the  sight  that  came 
under  his  eyes  as  he  looked  forth. 

A  crowd  was  coming  up  the  main  avenue  of  the  park — a  crowd 
of  men. 

They  were  not  marching  in  order,  and  mignt  have  been  called 
« a  mob ; "  although  it  consisted  of  right  merry  f^ows — neithsi 
disorderly  nor  dangerouB. 


•W  A  CHANGE   OF   QUAETEB8. 

The  individuals  who  composed  it  appeared  to  he  of  eftry  eonditioa 
in  life,  and  equally  varied  as  to  their  costumes. 

But  the  greater  number  of  them  could  be  identified  as  men  of  tht 
farmer  and  mechanic  class — the  "  bone  and  sinew  **  of  the  country 
The  miller  under  his  hoary  hat ;  the  butcher  in  his  blood-stained 
boots ;  the  blacksmith  in  grimy  sheep-skin ;  the  small  shop-keeper 
and  pale-faced  artisan;  the  grazier  and  agriculturist  of  ruddy  hue— « 
alongside  the  tavern-keeper  and  tapster  of  equally  florid  complexion 
— could  be  distinguished  in  that  crowd  coming  on  towards  the  walla 
of  Bulstrode  mansion. 
The  cuirassier  captain  had  seen  such  an  assemblage  before. 
It  might  have  been  the  same,  that  saluted  him  with  jeef  s — as  he 
crossed  the  Coin  bridge,  returning  from  his  unsuccessfid  pursuit  of 
the  black  horseman. 
With  slight  exceptions,  it  was  the  same. 

One  of  these  exceptions  was  an  individual,  who,  mounted  on 
horseback,  was  riding  conspicuously  in  front ;  and  who  appeared  to 
occupy  a  large  share  of  the  attention  of  those  who  followed  him. 

He  was  a  man  of  mature  age,  dressed  in  dark  velvet  tunic,  and 
with  trunk-hose  of  a  corresponding  color. 

A  man  with  an  aspect  to  inspire  regard — even  from  a  crowd  to 
which  he  might  have  been  a  stranger. 

But  he  was  evidently  no  stranger  to  the  men  who  surrounded  him  • 
for  at  every  step  of  their  process,  they  could  be  heard  vociferating, 
in  hearty  hurrah,  "  Long  Uve  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade !  " 

It  was  the  Knight  of  Bulstrode  who  headed  that  cheerful  pro- 
cession. 

Though  much  loved.  Sir  Marmaduke  did  not  monopolize  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  assemblage. 

Mounted  upon  a  magnificent  horse — ^black  as  a  coal  fresh  hoisted 
upon  the  windlass — rode  by  his  side  a  cavalier  of  mope  youthful, 
but  equally  noble,  aspect. 

It  did  not  need  the  cry,  "  Hurrah  for  the  black  horseman !  **  at 
faitervals  reaching  his  ears,  to  apprise  Captain  Scarthe,  who  was  the 
second  cavalier  at  the  head  of  the  approaching  corfge. 

The  images  of  both  horse  and  rider  were  engraven  upon  his  mem-* 
ory — in  lines  too  deep  ever  to  be  effaced. 
What  the  devil  did  it  mean  ? 

This  was  the  thought  in  Scarthe's  mind— the  identical  express  tw 
that  rose  to  his  lips — as  he  looked  forth  from  the  open  casement. 

n* 


m 

ftr  Mtrmaduke  "Wade,  on  horseback— unguarded—followed  by 
•  host  of  sympathizing  friends  ! 

The  rebel  Henry  Holtspur  riding  by  his  side ! 

Marion,  with  her  yellow  tressos  afloat  behind  her — ^like  a  snow- 
white  avalanche  under  the  full  flood  of  a  golden  sunlight— gliding 
forward  to  meet  them  ! 

"  What  the  devil  can  it  mean  ? "  was  the  interrogatory  of  Captain 
(Bcarthe,  repeatedly  put  to  himself,  as  the  procession  drew  near. 

He  was  not  allowed  much  time  to  speculate  on  a  reply  to  his  self- 
asked  question. 

Before  he  had  quite  recovered  from  the  surprise  caused  by  the  un- 
expected sight,  the  crowd  had  closed  in  to  the  walls ;  where  they 
once  more  raised  their  voices  in  shouts  of  congratulation. 

**  Three  cheers  for  John  Hampden ! "  "  Three  more  for  Pym !  " 
were  proposed,  and  unanimously  responded  to. 

With  equal  unanimity  wore  accepted  two  cries,  of  far  more  sig- 
nificance in  the  ear  of  the  royalist  officer :  "  Long  live  the  Parlia- 
ment !  "    «  Death  to  the  traitor  Strafford !  ** 

Though  still  unable  to  account  for  what  appeared  to  him  some 
•trange  travestie,  Scarthe  could  endure  it  no  longer. 

Strafford  was  his  peculiar  patron,  and,  on  hearing  him  thus  denoun 
eed,  he  sprang  forth  from  the  casement;  and  ran  with  all  speed  in 
the  direction  of  the  crowd. 

The  cuirassier  captain  was  followed  by  a  score  of  his  troopers, 
who  chanced  to  be  standing  near — like  himself  at  a  loss  to  make  out 
the  meaning  of  that  unlocked  for  invasion. 

"Disloyal  knaves !  "  shouted  he,  confronting  the  crowd,  with  his 
Bword  raised  in  a  threatening  manner.  "  Who  is  he  that  has  dared 
to  insult  the  noble  Strafford  ?  Let  me  hear  that  traitorous  phrase 
once  more ;  and  I  shall  split  the  tongue  that  repeats  it !  " 

"  Not  so  fastish,  master !  '*  cried  a  stalwart  individual,  stepping 
to  the  front,  and  whose  black  bushy  whiskers,  and  fantastic  fashion 
of  dress,  proclaimed  him  to  be  the  ex-footpad,  Gregory  Garth— 
*'  doan't  a  be  so  fastish  wi*  yer  threets ;  ye  mayen't  be  able  to  carry 
'em  out  so  easyish  as  ye  suppose.  Ye  can  heve  a  try,  though.  I'm 
one  o*  them  as  cried  :  "  Death  to  the  treetur  Strafford !  " 

As  he  pronounced  the  challenging  speech,  Garth  drew  from  its 
tcabbard  a  huge  broadsword — at  the  same  time  placing  himself  in 
an  attitude  of  defense. 

<*  Ck>o  it,  Grc^ry ! "  cried  another  colossal  individual,  recognixa> 


*^  A.  OHAUGE   OF   QUARtEfid. 

blo  M  Dick  Daneey,  the  deer-stealer.    «Ooo  H  llk«  bleezes!    11 
■tan'  to  yer  back." 

"  And  we !  "  simultaneously  shouted  a  score  of  butchers,  bakers, 
«nd  blacksmiths,  ranging  themselves  by  the  side  of  Garth,  and 
Mverally  confronting  the  cuirassiers — who  had  formed  a  phalanx  in 
rear  of  their  chief. 

Scarthe  hesitated  in  the  execution  of  his  threat.  He  saw  that  hia 
adversaries,  one  and  all  of  them,  wielded  ugly  weapons;  while  his 
own  men  had  only  their  light  side-arms — some  even  without  arms  of 
any  kind.  The  attitude  of  the  opposing  party — ^their  looks,  words, 
and  gestures — told  that  they  were  in  earnest  in  their  resolution  to 
resist.  Moreover,  it  was  stronger  than  his  own;  and  constantly 
gaining  accessions  from  the  crowd  in  the  rear. 

With  the  quick  perception  of  a  skilled  strategist,  Scarthe  saw  thai 
in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  with  such  redoubtable  antagonists,  his  men 
would  have  the  worst  of  it.  This  influeneed  him  to  pause  in  hia 
purpose. 

The  unexpected  opposition  caused  him  to  change  his  design. 

He  suddenly  resolved  to  retire  from  the  contest ;  arm  and  mount 
his  whole  troop;  sally  forth  again;  and  rout  the  rabble  who  had  so 
flagrantly  defied  him. 

Such  was  the  project  that  had  presented  itself  to  his  brain ;  but 
before  he  could  make  any  movement.  Sir  Marmaduke  had  dismounted 
from  his  horse,  and  placed  himself  between  the  opposing  parties. 

"  Captain  Scarthe ! "  said  he,  addressing  himself  to  the  officer,  and 
speaking  in  a  calm  voice,  in  which  a  touch  of  irony  was  perceptible : 
"in  this  matter,  it  appears  to  me,  you  overstep  the  limits  of  your 
duty.  Men  may  differ  in  opinion  about  the  merits  of  the  *  noble 
Strafibrd,*  as  you  have  designated  Thomas  Wentworth.  He  is  now 
in  the  hands  of  his  judges ;  who  will  no  doubt  deal  with  him  accord- 
ing to  his  deserts." 

"  Judges ! "  exclaimed  Scarthe,  turmng  pale  as  he  spoke;  " Earl 
Strafibrd  in  the  hands  of  judges  ?  " 

<*  It  is  as  I  have  said.  Thomas  Wentworth  at  this  moment  occu- 
pies the  same  domicile  which  has  been  my  dwelling  for  some  days 
past ;  and  from  which  I  am  not  sorry  to  have  been  ejected.  I  know, 
Captain  Scarthe,  you  could  not  have  been  aware  of  this  change  in 
the  fortunes  of  your  friend :  since  it  was  only  yesterday  he  madt 
his  entrance  into  the  Tower ! " 

*< Strafiford in  the  Tower!"  gasped  ons  the  ciurassier  oiptaix^ 
tttierly  astounded  at  the  intel]igen<>e. 


Ml 

A  OHAUGB  OF  (JTJABTEBS.  •" 

«  Tw."  conHnucd  the  knight ;  "  and  soon  to  stand  not  befo..  th. 
BtJcLnber-which  was  yesterday  f  ».««»''='i-''"'  »  <=™tf  ^ 
wiUde.!  more  honestly  with  his  derehctions-the  H>g^«'"'  "» 
JJ^lUment.    Thomas  Ventworth  appears  in  ,tepresence-an  attain- 

ted  traitor  to  his  country."  ,     ,    ..       c*  «flv.^^  t « 

"Long  live  the  Parliament!    Death  to  the  traitor  Strafford ! 

were  thfcrils  that  responded  to  the  speech  of  Sir  Marmaduke- 

though  from  none  to  whom  the  announcement  was  new. 

The  men.  who  accompanied  the  knight  to  his  home,  had  »lready 

learnt  the  news  of  Strafford's  attainder;  which,  bke  .  bhae  of 

cheerful  liffht,  was  fast  spreading  over  the  land. 
Fortome  s^^nds  Scarthe  seemed  like  a  man  bereft  of  reason 
He  was  abont  to  retire  from  the  spot,  when  Sir  M^madake  a^n 

addressed  him-speaking  in  the  same  calm  voice,  but  with  »  mor. 

'"rcSnlTrthe?;:s«edhe.  "some  timeago.  you  were  good 
.„ou?toimekdLpatchfromtheking.    It  U  mj>^r^^ 
be  able  to  reciprocate  the  compUment-and  m  kmd.    I  am  the  b^r^ 
„  of  one  to  you-also  from  his  majesty,  as  you  may  seebytheseal 
SirMln^adake,ashe  spoke,  exhibited  a  parchment  bearing  the 

''*rrtha;::^lTUnued  he.  "you  we™  ^od  enough  to 
have  H  read  aloud-^o  that  the  bystanders  should  have  the  benefit 
S?lf8  contents.    In  this,  also,  shaU  I  foUow  your  example." 

On  Sng  this  the  knightly  bearer  of  the  dispatch  broke  open  the 
»eal,  and  read:— 

"7!,  ye  C<g>tain  Scarthe,  commanding  ye  king's  cuirassieri  at 
Svlstroae  Park. 

"m»  miestie  doth  hereby  cmmand  ye  Captain  Scarthe  to  mth- 
irJhUtrJop.  from  ye  mansion  of  Sir  M.nnadukeJVade,andtrans- 
trJlmeto  voters  i«  our  royal  palace  at  mndsor;  arul  hx, 
^IJr^th  further  enjoin  on  his  faiXKf^  officer  ye  sard  Captain 
Sdrtl  to  ^ey  thi.  order  ^  ye  i^tant  of  recejUh^^f^  ^^^ 

«  Whxtthali:* 

The  dispatch  ot  lus  "majestie"  was  received  with  a  Yociferous 
eh^;  SkuL  wiui  not  »  voice  in  the  crowd  to  cry  "  Long  hv. 
th0kiiigl" 


S06  A  OHAKaa  OF  QI7ABTBB8. 

They  knew  that  the  amende,  thus  made  to  Sir  Marmadukl 
W&de,  was  not  a  roluntary  act  on  the  part  of  the  royal  cuckold,  bul 
had  been  wrung  from  his  fears. 

It  was  the  Parliament  who  had  obtained  that  measure  of  justice; 
and  once  more  rang  out  the  cry — 

"  Long  live  the  Parliament !  ** 

Scarthe's  chagrin  had  culminated  to  its  climax. 

He  was  black  in  the  face  as  he  strode  off  to  make  preparations  foi 
his  departure;  and  the  words  "coward  "  and  "poltroon  "  muttered 
hissingly  through  his  closed  teeth,  were  not  intended  for  the  citizens 
who  were  jeering,  but  the  sovereign  who  had  exposed  him  to  such 
oyerwhelming  humiliation. 

In  less  than  ten  minutes  after,  he  was  seen  at  the  head  of  his 
troop  galloping  outward  through  the  gates  of  Bulstrode  Park,  having 
left  a  few  stragglers  to  look  after  the  impedimenta. 

He  was  not  likely  ever  to  forget  the  loud  huzza,  that  rose  ironically 
(rom  the  crowd,  as  his  discomfited  cuirassiers  swept  past  on  their 

departure. 

•   •••••••••• 

At  the  moment  of  his  dismounting,  Marion  had  rushed  into  the 
ftrms  of  Sir  Marmaduke. 

**  Father !  "  exclaimed  she,  joyfully,  trembling  in  his  embrace. 
**  Saved !  you  are  safe." 

"  Safe,  my  child !  Sure,  with  such  a  braye  followmg,  I  may  feel 
safe  enough !  ** 

"  And  I  am  spared.  Oh,  to  come  at  such  a  crisis.  Just  as  I  was 
on  the  eve  of  consenting  to  a  sacrifice — painful  as  death  itself." 

**  What  sacrifice,  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  Myself— to  him  yonder.    He  promised  to  obtain  your  pardon 
but  only  on  condition,  I  should  become " 

Marion  hesitated  to  pronounce  the  terms  that  Scarthe  had  proposed 
t^  her. 

"  I  know  them,"  interposed  Sir  Marmaduke.  "And  you  would 
have  accepted  them,  noble  girl !  I  know  that  too.  Thank  heaven, 
my  pardon  has  been  obtained,  not  through  the  favor  of  an  enemy, 
but  my  friends — foremost  among  whom  is  this  gallant  gentleman  by 
my  side.    But  for  him,  the  king's  grace  might  have  come  too  late.'^ 

Marion  looked  up 

Holtspur,  still  seated  in  his  saddle,  was  tenderly  gazing  upon  her 

It  WMS  ftt  t}u8  moment,  that  Sir  Marmaduke  was  called  ufon  t« 


A  OECAirGB  OF  QUABTEBS.  897 

interfere  between  the  cuirassiers  of  Scarthe,  and  his  cwn  enthusiaa* 
tic  e;lcort. 
For  an  instant  Marion  and  Hoiispur  were  left  alone. 
"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  she,  her  voice  trembling  iron,  a  conflict 
©f  emotions — "  I  thank  you  for  my  father's  life.  The  happiness 
arising  from  that  is  some  recompense — ^for — for  the  misery  you  havo 
caused  me." 

"  Misery,  Marion  ?    I — I ** 

**  Oh,  sir,  let  it  pass.  *Tis  better  without  explanation.  You  know 
what  is  meant — too  well  you  know  it.  Oh,  Henry,  Henry !  I  could 
not  have  believed  you  capable  of  such  deception — ^such  cruelty." 

"Cruelty?" 

"No  more — go — go!  Leave  me  to  my  sorrow — Cleave  me  to  a 
life-long  repentance ! " 

"I  obey  your  commands,"  said  Holtspur,  taking  up  his  bridle* 
rems,  as  if  with  the  intention  of  riding  away.  "  Alas,"  he  added, 
in  an  accent  of  bitterness,  "  whither  am  I  to  go  ?  For  me  there  \a 
no  life — ^no  happiness — where  thou  art  not.  Oh  God !  whither  am  I 
togo?" 

"  To  your  wife,"  muttered  Marion,  in  a  low  reproachful  tone,  and 
•rith  faltering  accent. 

«  Ha,  'tis  that !    You  have  heard,  then  ?  " 

"All— all." 

**  No — not  all — ^I  have  no  wife." 

"Oh,  sir!  Henry!  Why  try  to  deceive  me  any  longer!  You 
have  a  wife.    I  have  been  told  it,  by  those  who  know.    It  is  true  ^  *' 

"I  have  deceived  you.  That  is  true,  that  only.  I  had  a  wife. 
She  is  dead  V 

"Dead?" 
'"Ay  dead." 

"  I  acknowledge  my  crime,"  continued  he,  after  a  solemn  pause. 
**  I  should  have  told  you  all.  For  my  justification  I  can  plead  only 
my  own  wrongs,  and  your  beauty.  I  loved  you  while  she  was  still 
living." 

"Oh,  mercy,  what  is  thw?  She  is  dead;  and  you  love  me  no 
more?" 

"  No  more  ?  What  mean  you,  Marion  ?  Heart  and  hand,  soul 
and  body,  I  am  yours.  I  swore  it  at  our  last  interview  It  costs  ne 
lacriflce  to  keep  the  oath :  I  could  not  break  it  if  I  would.** 

"  Oh,  Henry !  This  is  cruel.  'Tis  insulting !  Have  you  not  kept 
that  pomiat  ?    How,  then,  can  you  be  true  to  your  troth?" 


W8  A  OHAFGE  OF  QTTAirrERS. 

**  Wiat  promise  ?  ** 

**  Cruel,  cruel !  You  are  trilling  with  my  misery,  but  you  cannot 
make  it  more.  Ah,  the  white  gauntlet.  When  it  was  brought  back, 
with  your  message  that  accompaniecl  it,  my  dream  of  happiness  camf 
to  an  end.    My  heart  was  broken ! " 

"  Brought  back,  the  white  gauntlet,  message ! " 

"Marion,"  cried  Sir  Marmaduke,  who  had  by  this  time  disposed 
of  the  petty  quarrel  between  Scarthe  and  his  own  following;  "in° 
doors,  my  daughter !  and  see  that  your  father's  house  does  not  for- 
feit its  character  for  hospitality.  There's  dust  upon  the  king's 
highway ;  which  somehow  or  other  has  got  into  the  throats  of  our 
worthy  friends  from  Uxbridge,  Denham,  and  Iver.  Surely  there's 
an  antidote  in  the  cellars  of  Bulstrode  ?    Go,  find  it,  my  girl !  " 

Promptly  did  Marion  obey  the  orders  of  her  father ;  the  more 
promptly,  from  having  been  admonished,  by  the  surprise  exhibited  in 
Holtspur's  countenance,  that  the  return  of  her  token  would  admit  oi 
A  different  interpretation,  from  that  she  had  hitherto  put  upon  it. 
•  «*••* 

Time  permitting,  it  would  be  a  pleasant  task  to  depict  the  many 
joyous  scenes  that  took  place  in  the  precincts  ot  Bulstrode  Park, 
subsequent  to  the  departure  of  Scarthe  and  his  cuirassiers. 

Lora,  no  longer  subject  to  the  tiresome  importunities  of  Stubbs, 
found  little  else  to  do  than  listen  to  Walter's  pretty  love  prattlings, 
excepting  to  respond  to  them. 

Near  at  hand  were  two  hearts  equally  en  rapport  with  one  another, 
equally  brimful  of  beatitude,  trembling  under  a  passion  still  more 
intense,  the  one  paramount  passion  of  a  life,  destined  to  endure  to 
its  ending. 

It  was  no  young  love's  dream,  no  fickle  fondness,  that  filled  the 
bosoms  of  Henry  Holtspur  and  Marion  Wade;  but  a  love  that 
burned  with  a  bold,  blazing  flame,  like  a  torch  that  no  time  could 
extinguish,  such  a  love  as  may  exist  between  the  eagle  and  his  majes- 
tic mate. 

With  all  its  boldness,  it  sought  not  notoriety. 

The  scenes  in  which  it  was  displayed  lay  not  nside  the  walls  ©I 
the  proud  mansion ;  nor  yet  within  the  enclosure  of  its  park. 

A  spot  to  Marion  Wade  reminiscent  of  the  keenest  pang  she  had 
ever  experienced,  was  now  the  oft-repeated  scene  of  earth's  purest 
pleasure ;  at  least  its  supremest. 

Oft  mi^t  the  Ipvers  have  been  seen  m  that  solitary  spot,  ond^r 


MAE9T0N  MOOE.  *^' 

a,  spmding  beech  tree,  not  recmnbent  ^  Tityrus.  but  se.ted  in  th« 
^2V  thek  horses  in  close  approximation,  the  noble  black  steed 
S"k,  not  in  proud  disdain,  but  b-' <=»--°S^  ^^ 
waXfill  his  veWet  muzzle  met  in  friendly  contact  with  that  of  th. 

"TJIITL.  was  scarce  necessity  for  the  clandestine  meeti^s 
The  prl-o  of  ^carthe  and  his  cuirassiers  no  1-^' -f^^^, 

tarx;L=urcprtotrrftr5^ 

WhVr^I  did  the  lovers  prefer  the  forest  shade,  for  mtervieW. 
that  no  one  had  the  right  to  interrupt  ? 
K:r:y::rc11enceofpastemotion..U.^^^^^^ 

•'Ks  »dror:xS-^eriri^=^^^  - 

defies  it.  feltV  aU  Le  lovers,  to  keep  the.r  secret  um^ 
vealed  to  mdulge  in  the  sweetness  of  the  stolen .' 
Whktev«  may  have  been  their  motive,  they  were  successful  mthe» 

""  Oft  Xost  daily,  did  they  meet  under  the  spreading  tree  whose 
.omLSlw^ldnotdimthe  bright  color  of  Marion's  golden 
Snor.^rp.Uid  the  roseate  hue  of  her  cheeks.  Iways  mor. 
ra^ant  at  i»rting. 


OHAPTEB  Va. 

MJMOO*  MOOB. 


To  bring  our  ar«m»  to  »  ^noumerrf.  only  two  more  scene,  req-b. 
*'^wo1:n^erethey.antagonisticin*ar«>ter.-thoughoft^^^ 
kd  C*er,  like  their  emblematical  deities  m  the  pagan  P»n*eon 

p^rthe  first,  presided  Mars.  The  god  <«"««  '='"^' ^^^  ^ 
.Iwl^  just,  on  this  occasion  gave  the  ^to^r  to  the  sido  that  d» 

iMrytdH* 


400  MAS8T0N  MOCB. 

For  three  years  had  the  trumpet  of  war  been  braying  londly 
the  land:  and  England's  best  blood,  marshaled  into  the  field,  wmf 
arrayed  on  both  sides  of  the  fraternal  strife. 

The  combatants  had  become  known  as  royalist  and  republican :  for 
the  latter  phrase,  first  breathed  by  Holtspur  in  the  secret  conference 
at  Stone  Dean,  was  no  longer  a  title  to  be  concealed.  (  i  the  con- 
trary, it  had  become  openly  avowed,  proclaimed  as  a  thing  to  be  proud 
of,  as  it  ever  will  and  must  among  enlightened  and  noble  men. 

There  were  heard  also  the  words  "  Cavalier"  and  "Round-head;* 
but  these  were  only  terms  of  boasting  and  reproach — ^probeeding 
principally  from  the  lips  of  ribald  royalists,  humiliated  by  defeat,  and 
giving  way  to  the  ferocious  instincts  that  have  distinguished  "  Tory- 
ism *'  in  all  times ;  alas !  still  rife  at  the  present  day,  both  m  the 
tax-paying  shires  of  England,  and  the  slave-holding  territories  cuir§ 
the  Atlantic. 

The  "  Cavalier  "  of  Charles*  time — so  specifically  styled — wm  a 
true  sham ;  in  every  respect  shabby  as  his  modern  representative,  the 
swell — distinguished  only  by  his  vanity  and  his  vices !  with  scarce  a 
virtue :  for,  even  in  the  ordinary  endowment  of  courage,  he  was  not 
equal  to  his  "Round-head'*  antagonist. 

His  title  of  "  cavalier,"  and  his  "  chivalry,**  like  that  of  the  South- 
em  slave-driver,  were  simply  pseudonyms — a  ludicrous  mis-applica- 
tion of  terms,  self-appropriated  by  a  prurient  conceit. 

It  had  come  to  the  meeting  on  Marston  Moor — ^that  field  ever  to  be 
remembered  with  pride  by  the  lovers  of  liberty.  The  rash  swaggerer 
Rupert,  disregarding  the  counsels  of  a  wiser  head,  had  sallied  forth 
from  York,  at  the  head  of  one  of  the  largest  armies  ever  mustered  on 
the  side  of  the  king.  He  had  already  raised  the  siege,  so  gallantly 
protracted  by  the  Marquis  of  Newcastle;  and,  flushed  with  success, 
he  was  in  haste  to  crush  the  ci-devant  besiegers;  who,  it  must  be 
confessed,  with  some  spirit  were  retiring — though  slowly,  and  with 
the  sulky  reluctance  of  wounded  lions. 

Rupert  overtook  them  upon  Marston  Moor;  where,  to  his  misfor- 
tune, they  had  determined  on  making  a  stand. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  describe  that  famous  fight — ^which  for  a 
time  settled  the  question  between  Throne  and  Tribune. 

Of  the  many  thrilling  episodes  witnessed  on  Marston  Moor,  only 
Mie  can  be  of  interest  in  this  narrative;  and  it  alone  is  given. 

Among  the  followers  of  the  impetuous  prince  was  one  Richard 
9carthe— late  promoted  to  be  a  eolonel,  and  commanding  a  *<  color  *' 


i 


401 

»f  eidrtsfttor  hort*.  On  the  oppoeite  side,  among  the  foll)wer8  of 
Fftir&x,  was  an  officer  of  like  rank — a  colonel  of  cavalry — hy  nam^i 
Henry  Holtspur. 

Was  it  destiny,  or  mutual  design,  that  brought  these  tiro  men  to- 
gether, face  to  face,  in  the  middle  of  the  fight  ?  It  may  have  been 
chance — a  simple  coincidence — but  whether  or  no,  of  a  certain  they 
so  met  upon  Marston  Moor. 

Scarthe  rode  at  the  head  of  his  glittering  troop.  Holtspur,  astride 
his  sable  charger,  gallantly  conducted  into  the  field  the  brave  yeomeo 
of  Bucks,  clad  in  cloth  doublets  of  forest  green — each  bestriding  a 
horse  he  had  led  from  his  own  stable,  to  figure  in  this  glorious  fight 
for  freedom. 

While  still  a  hundred  yards  separated  the  opposing  parties,  their 
leaders  recognized  one  another.  There  was  also  a  mutual  recognition 
among  their  men :  for  many  of  those  commanded  by  Scarthe  were 
the  cuirassiers  who  had  been  billeted  at  Bulstrode  mansion ;  while 
many  of  the  "  green-ccats  "  in  the  following  of  the  "  black  horseman  " 
had  figured  conspicuously  in  that  crowd  who  had  jeered  the  soldiers 
on  their  departure  from  its  park. 

On  identifyiflg  each  other  as  old  antagonists,  there  was  a  general 
desire  on  both  sides  to  be  led  forward.  This  impulse,  however,  was 
stronger  in  the  breasts  of  the  two  leaders ;  who,  without  waiting  to 
give  the  word  to  their  men,  put  spurs  to  their  horses,  and  galloped 
across  the  intervening  space. 

In  a  second's  time  both  had  separated  from  the  general  line  of  bat- 
tle, and  were  fast  closing  upon  each  other. 

Their  followers,  taken  by  surprise  at  this  unexpected  action,  for  a 
moment  remained  without  imitating  their  rapid  advance.  Two  young 
officers  only — one  from  each  side — ^had  ridden  after  their  respective 
chiefs ;  not  as  if  stirred  by  their  example,  but  to  all  appearance  act* 
vated  by  an  analogous  hostility. 

The  action  of  these  youths — ^known  to  their  comrades  as  the  oor 
nets  Stubbs  and  Wade — did  not  attract  any  particular  attention. 
The  eyes  of  all  were  upon  the  two  chiefs — Scarthe  and  Holtspur— 
each  exhibiting  that  mien  that  proclaimed  him  determined  upon  the 
ieath  of  his  adversary. 

In  the  breast  of  Scarthe  raged  the  fires  of  a  long-^ndnring  rancor- 
fed  by  the  remembrance  of  former  defeats— itimulated  to  a  fiendish 
fteroeness  by  never-dying  jealousy. 

In  the  bottom  of  Holtspur  burned  a  nobler  flame — an  fanjmlae  alto* 


i02  UASSftOlS  MOOB. 

gether  unselfish — though  not  less  impellmg  him  towards  the  destroy 
tion  of  his  antagonist. 

The  proud  republican  saw  before  him  a  true  type  of  the  Janizary- 
one  of  those  minions  who  form  the  protecting  entourage  of  tyrants- 
ready  to  ride  over  and  oppress  the  peoples  of  the  earth — ready  even 
to  die  in  their  infamous  harness — on  the  battle-field  breathing  with 
their  last  breath  that  senseless,  as  contradictory  declaration :  thai 
they  die  for  king  and  country  ! 

Holtspur  had  no  personal  antipathy  to  Scarthe — ^at  least  non«  like 
tbat  by  which  he  was  himself  regarded. 

Notwithstanding  the  wrongs  which  the  latter  had  attempted  to  in- 
flict upon  him,  his  antagonism  to  the  royalist  officer  was  chiefly  of  a 
political  character — chiefly  the  sublime  contempt  which  a  republican 
must  needs  feel  for  a  partizan  of  monarchy — whether  simpleton  or 
villain :  since  one  of  the  two  he  must  be. 

It  was  sufficient,  however,  to  stimulate  him  to  a  keen  desire  to  kill 
Scarthe — such  as  the  shepherd  may  feel  for  destroying  the  wolf  that 
has  been  preying  upon  his  innocent  fold,  or  the  game-keeper  the 
"  vermin  "  that  has  been  spoiling  his  master's  preserves. 

Nerved  by  noble  thoughts — confident  in  a  holy  cause — sure  of  the 
thanks  of  millions  yet  to  be — did  the  soldier  of  liberty  charge  forward 
upon  his  adversary. 

The  action  was  instantaneous ;  the  event  quick  as  the  killing  of  a 
stoat,  crushed  beneath  the  heel  of  the  irate  keeper.  In  less  than  a 
score  of  seconds — after  the  commencement  of  the  encounter — Scarthe 
lay  motionless  upon  the  tul-f  of  Mars  ton  Moor — doubled  up  in  his 
steel  equipments,  like  a  pile  of  mediaeval  armor! 

By  this  time  the  two  cornets  were  crossing  swords ;  but  before 
either  could  give  the  other  a  death  wound,  the  royalist  bugles  brayed 
the  "Retreat;  **  and  the  gallant  "green  coats,"  sweeping  over  the 
field,  put  the  discomfited  cuirassiers  to  flight ;  who  from  that  moment, 
with  the  rest  of  Rupert'^  army,  made  more  use  of  their  spurs,  than 

their  sabres. 

•  ^  •  •  •  •  • 

One  more  act,  and  the  curtain  must  close  upon  our  drama. 

The  mist  en  Bciru  of  this  act  has  been  already  presented ;  and,  at 
often  on  the  stage,  it  is  again  repeated ;  with  but  little  change  in  th« 
dramatis  persona, 

Bulstrode  Park  is  once  more  enlivened  by  a  /U$  cKampUr&^tm  W 
fort,  the  old  Saxon  camp  being  ita 


40S 

An  occasion,  oteii  more  joyful  than  then,  has  called  together  th« 
friends  of  Sir  Marmaduke  Wade ;  in  which  category  might  be  com- 
prised every  honest  man  in  the  shire  of  Bucks. 

The  camp  enclosure  is  capable  of  containing  many  thousands.  It 
is  full :  so  full,  that  there  is  hardly  room  for  the  sports  of  wrestling 
and  single  stick,  bowls,  and  baloon — ^which  are,  nevertheless,  carried 
on  with  zealous  earnestness,  by  their  respective  devotees. 

What  is  the  occasion  ?  Another  son  come  of  age  ?  It  cannot  bt 
Ihat ;  since  there  is  but  one  heir  to  Sir  Marmaduke's  estate;  and  his 
majority  has  been  already  commemorated. 

It  is  not  that.  An  event  of  still  greater  interest  has  called  togethei 
the  concourse  in  question. 

A  double  event  it  might  be  designated :  since  upon  this  day  the 
knight  of  Bulstrode  has  given  away  two  brides ;  one  to  his  own  sor^ 
the  other  to  an  "adventurer,"  formerly  known  as  Henry  Holtspur 

the  "  black  horseman,"  but  of  late  recognized  as  Sir  Henry ,  a 

colonel  in  the  Parliamentary  army,  and  a  member  of  the  Parliament 
itself. 

I  have  told  you  who  are  the  bridegrooms.  I  need  not  name  the 
brides :  you  have  already  guessed  them. 

Behold  the  two  couples,  as  they  stand  upon  the  green-tufted  bank- 
overlooking  the  sports — pleased  spectators  of  the  people's  enjoy- 
ment. 

For  a  short  while  your  eyes  will  rest  upon  the  more  youthful 
pair — ^the  pretty  Lora  Lovelace,  and  her  cousin-husband,  Walter. 

'Tis  well  you  have  first  looked  upon  them :  for  your  eye  will  scarce 
care  to  return  to  them. 

Once  bent  upon  Marion  Wade,  it  will  not  wish  to  wander  away 

There  you  will  behold  all  those  hues  most  distinguished  in  nature— 
the  blue  of  the  sky — the  gold  scattered  by  the  sun — the  radiance  oi 
the  rose. 

Shapes,  too,  of  divine  ideal  corresponding  to  such  fair  colors  :  the 
oval  of  the  forehead;  the  arched  outline  of  the  nose;  the  spiral  curv- 
ing of  the  nostrils ;  the  hemisphere  expressed  in  two  contiguous 
bosoms;  and  the  limitless  parabola  passing  downward  from  her 
lithesome  waist — are  all  conspicuous  proofs  that,  in  the  construetion 
of  Marion  Wade,  Nature  has  employed  the  most  skillAil  of  ar 
chitects. 

The  crowd  has  eyes  for  no  one  else. 

She  is  alike  the  otynosore  of  gentle  and  tbttfii^ 


104  MAXflOH  IIOOB. 

It  {■  only  when  these  reflect  on  their  late  acquired  pririlegei,  that 
Ihey  gaze  with  grateful  pride  upon  the  man  who  stands  hy  her  gidi 
^recognized  hy  all  present  as  one  ot  the  patriot  heroes  who  has 
helped  them  to  their  liberty. 

On  this  day  of  the  double  marriage,  mb  on  that  of  Walter's  major- 
ity, there  are  morris-dancers ;  and  as  before,  are  personated  tlte 
**  merry  men  "  of  Sherwood  Forest. 

But,  with  some  unnoticeable  exceptions,  the  individuals  who  now 
figure  as  the  representatiyes  of  the  outlawed  fraternity  are  not  the 
same. 

The  huge  bearded  man,  who  in  grotesque  attire  personifies  liitlt 
John,  can  be  recognized  as  the  ex-footpad  Gregory  Garth. 

No  wonder  he  plays  the  part  to  perfection  / 

The  representatiye  of  Robin  Hood  is  different ;  and  so  also  she  whi 
performs  the  metier  of  Maid  Marian. 

The  latter  is  a  girl  with  golden  hair ;  and  the  outlaw  chief  is  the 
ex-cuirassier  Withers — long  since  transformed  into  a  staunch  sup- 
porter of  the  Parliament. 

Why  is  Bet  Dancey  not  there  as  of  yore? 

And  where  is  the  woodman  Walford  ? 

There  are  few  upon  the  ground  who  could  not  answer  theso 
questions ;  for  the  sad  tragedy  that  will  account  for  the  absence  of 
both  is  still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  multitude. 

A  middle-aged  man  of  herculean  frame,  leaning  against  %  tre^ 
looks  sadly  upon  the  sports. 

All  know  him  to  be  old  Dick  Dancey,  the  deer-stealer. 

His  colossal  form  is  bowed  more  than  when  last  seen,  for  h»  hm 
not  been  abroad  for  months. 

He  has  come  forth  to  the  marriage  f^te  for  the  first  time — ^from  his 
lone  forest  hut,  where  for  months  he  has  been  mourning  the  loss  of 
luL3  only  child — daughter. 

There  is  sadness  in  his  glance  and  sorrow  in  his  attitude. 

£yen  the  ludicrous  sallies  of  his  friend  and  confederate.  Garth, 
cannot  win  fram  him  a  smile ;  and  as  he  looks  upon  the  timid  fair* 
haired  representative  of  Maid  Marian,  and  remembers  his  own  brave, 
and  brown,  and  beautiful  Betsey,  a  tear,  telling  of  a  strong  heart's 
despair,  can  be  seen  trickling  down  his  rudely  furrowed  cheek. 

Ah !  the  brave  and  beautiful  Betsey — for  she  was  both — well  may 
W  lather  sorrow  for  her  fisite,  for  it  was  one  of  the  saddest. 

ntr  love— her  wild  passion-— for  Henry  Holtspnr,  howew  mho^ 


I 


lUitflTON   MOOB.  40ft 

to  llfl  Aim,  I'M  luJlowed  hj  truth  And  ennobled  hy  generou  uimII' 


It  skould  be  regarded  with  the  the  tear  of  pity— not  the  smile  of 
eontempt.  It  led  to  her  untimely  end.  She  died  by  the  hand  of  the 
lorcUng  rufiSan  who  had  laid  presumptuous  claims  to  her  loye— by 
the  weapon  he  had  threatened  to  wield — ^but  dared  not— against  tht 
mAn  he  foolishly  believed  to  be  his  rival. 

His  own  end  was  more  just  and  appropriate. 

That  with  which,  during  all  his  life,  ne  had  been  warring,  was 
CAlled  into  requisition  to  expedite  his  exit  from  the  world.  He  term 
mated  his  existence  upon  a  tree ! 

The  fete  celebrating  the  double  marriage — ^unlike  its  predecessor, 
jAme  to  A  conclusion  without  being  interrupted  by  any  unpleasant 
incident.  Everybody  on  the  ground  seemed  happy,  excepting,  per- 
haps, the  bereaved  father,  Dick  Dancey,  and  one  other  who  was 
liresent — almost  without  a  purpose — Dorothy  Dayrell. 

If  she  had  come  with  a  purpose,  it  must  have  been  to  criticise. 

But  her  piquant  satire  had  now  lost  its  point;  and  no  one  seemed 
to  sympathize  with  her  when,  in  allusion  to  the  love-token  that 
Appeared  conspicuously  in  the  hat  of  Marion's  husband,  she  made 
these  somewhat  fast  observations : — 

"  A  white  glove !  In  truth,  a  true  symbol  of  a  woman  just  becomt 
wife !  now  spotless  as  snow — soon  to  be  soiled— perchance  cast  away 
fai  eontempt .     Nous  verrons ! " 

The  hypothetical  prophecy  found  no  supporters  among  those  to 
#hom  it  wui  addressed. 

Perhaps  no  one — save  the  spiteful  prophetess — dther  beUered  flff 
wisbed  ^ha  such  should  be  the  £kte  of  the  White  Gauntlet. 


END. 


geid.   K, 


Thv/  v/hite 


JAN  5    1939lBkgi®iFy» 


ITI-E_-l_*>«'%^X- 


^raimtlet 


ML^ 


H357 


/^«im 


M11991 


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